Azula: Journey to Nekana
by firelordyongle
Summary: In this sequel to "Heirs of Ozai," Azula finds herself adrift in the turbulent Fire Nation Colonies. Her only goal is to disappear. But as Azula meets new companions and is swept up in the birth pangs of the United Republic, her past demons return stronger than ever. Can Azula forge a new life for herself? Or is she forever doomed to repeat her mistakes? Disclaimer: Drug use.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello friends! I'm excited to present Azula: Journey to Nekana. The plot makes the most sense if you've already read _Heirs of Ozai_, but is understandable even if you haven't. Enjoy!_

_Thanks to my friend M, who edited every chapter of this twice. Also thanks to H, who helped me brainstorm this story while on the back of a motorcycle in rural China._

**Chapter 1**

A large passenger vessel docks at the colonial port city of Taiyang, slowly easing into its narrow berth adjacent to the pier. The funnel lets out a puff of steam. Like most Fire Nation ships, the _Emerald Isles _is made entirely of metal, and a warlike gangplank descends with a sharp hiss once the ship drops anchor. A hundred years ago, Fire Nation soldiers marched out of a similar ship to capture the Earth Kingdom village of Taiyang. But today families emerge instead of soldiers: children running happily onto shore for the first time in weeks, fathers carrying toddlers on their shoulders, and mothers juggling luggage. They stream out into the bustling shipyard, some greeted with hugs from waiting family members, others glancing nervously at the chaos of sailors and commerce.

Deep within the ship, Azula summons fire.

The boiler room is hot, and Azula's braid sticks to the back of her neck. But this may be the last chance she gets to practice. Back pressed to a large water tank, Azula stares sternly at the flower of blue fire that flickers just above her hand. She imagines warm things, but not too hot; a simmering anger instead of her usual righteous fury. The flame quivers. Then, slowly, the azure base of her fire shifts to bright orange. It looks like everyone else's fire. Like Zuko's fire. Azula extinguishes her flame with a twist of her fingers, then reignites both hands. Orange. _Hiss. _Orange again. Azula flushes with victory…and causes both fires to abruptly revert to vivid, brilliant blue.

The blue fire reflects off the metal boilers, creating a sapphire glow. Azula breathes in. No one else in the world can create blue fire. It's a pity she has to repress the parts of her that are extraordinary to blend in with Colonials. The first time she summoned blue fire, Azula had just turned ten. Zuko had just left the capital, burnt and disgraced, and Azula remembered feeling so _angry _without knowing why. Suddenly without anyone to play with or torment, she practiced her forms furiously. Alone. The courtyard was cool with morning mists, and she remembered repeatedly wiping the wet condensation off her face. With a shout, Azula punched the air—but instead of orange, her fire unfurled like a banner of bright blue, as blue as Father's lightning.

"Well done, Azula," Father had said, emerging from the courtyard mists. He hugged her in a rare display of affection. "I knew you were special." And Azula's conflict over Zuko's abrupt departure dissipated.

Of course, Ozai is dead now. And Zuko recently told her he is glad he was banished. Just another part of her world that has turned upside down in the past three weeks.

The door to the boiler room clangs open. Azula edges around the large, cylindrical boiler to avoid being seen. But the engine worker heads for the furnace at the other side of the boiler room, and Azula is alone again. She refocuses on her fire. _Think heat, no_t _cold fury or anger. _Just before Azula left the Fire Nation, Zuko told her the world can run on love and not fear. He was earnest. He meant it. But how is that possible? Frustrated red-orange flames curl from Azula's palm, without even the faintest hint of blue. Azula laughs bitterly. If internal conflict leads to orange fire, no wonder Zuko has never summoned blue flame.

"Who's there?" The engine worker's voice echoes in the metal room. She sounds worried.

Noiselessly, Azula grabs her bag and creeps from the bowels of the ship.

The hallways below deck are mildly claustrophobic and remind Azula uncomfortably of the insane asylum where Zuko imprisoned her for more than a year. But Zuko is not her enemy now. Quickening her pace, Azula climbs up a service ladder to the top deck, where sailors bustle around, loading crates on and off the ship. She is the last passenger to disembark. Which is fitting, since no one knew she _was _a passenger.

As Azula weaves her way down the gangplank to the pier, ignoring the puzzled stares of various sailors, she looks up at the sky. It is a cloudless day, and the weather in Taiyang is a little cooler than it had been in the Fire Nation Capital. Perhaps it is the ocean breeze. Azula stops right where the metal ramp touches the pier. Behind, a metal warship and her home. Ahead, a bustling port and the Colonies. Once Azula crosses this border…she can never go back. She steels herself, an odd lump growing in her throat.

Someone grabs her upper arm roughly and jerks her off the ramp and into the shadows at the side of the ship. Without thinking, Azula twists out of her assailant's grip and shoves the person away. Falling into a fighting stance, she watches the ship's captain stumble backwards into crates of new cargo. He yells in surprise and glares at her.

"I don't remember you paying for a ticket, sweetheart," Captain Chu says, standing back up to his full height. Which, Azula admits, is considerable. But apparently Chu didn't get the message that toying with her is a mistake.

"If you're so incompetent you didn't find a stowaway on a tiny ship, you don't deserve my money," Azula sneers, crossing her arms. Chu advances on her, but she doesn't move. If he wants both arms broken, that's his business.

"I'm collecting now, girl," says Chu, looming over her. She can smell his breath: sour tobacco and spicy chicken. She knows men like him: puffed-up, self-important, greedy and eager to prey on the weak. Pathetic.

"I don't think so." Azula turns, but Chu has the audacity to grab her again.

"If money's the problem, girl, you can always—"

Almost bored, Azula knees Chu sharply in the groin. He crunches over, gagging, and Azula grabs the top of his hair and pulls his head down to meet her knee. His nose breaks. Azula could walk away now, but Chu needs to learn a lesson. She kicks him in the stomach and plants a foot on his chest, still concealed behind shipping crates. Azula summons orange fire.

"What's going on here?" says a sharp voice.

Azula sighs and turns to look at the newcomer, keeping her flame aloft. After such a long journey she just wants some rest. But now two people are trying to get on her bad side. The new man stands just outside the shadows; when he moves out of the glaring sunlight, he reveals the dark, sun-tanned skin of an Earth Kingdom citizen. He's slight, and not much taller than she is, but his arms are folded arrogantly.

"Captain Chu made a feeble attempt to extort money from me," Azula says.

"Chu! I'm ashamed of you! And to such a beautiful young woman!" says the newcomer mockingly. He narrows green eyes at Chu, who writhes on the ground and groans indistinctly. "You shouldn't intimidate people, Chu. You know better."

"I don't need your help," Azula says cuttingly, digging her heel into Chu's chest.

"Oh, that is manifestly clear," says the man, meeting Azula's eyes for the first time. He's somewhere between her age and her mother's, and he looks vaguely amused.

"So leave. Now."

"Come on, Temurin!" Chu finally chokes out. "Help me!"

"You brought this on yourself, Chu," Temurin says. He glances over at Azula. "But even so. I must insist you let my supplier go free, young lady."

_Young lady? _Azula fumes. As Princess Azula, she was respected and feared by everyone; her age and gender didn't come into it. Maybe Chu isn't the only one who needs to be taught a lesson in respect. She steps off Chu's chest and stalks toward Temurin, allowing her orange fire to burn taller. At this distance, she can see her flames reflected in his green eyes. He's not so confident any more. Azula relishes the fear he sees in his face, feels the rush she gets when she sees someone's swagger swept away. But then Zuko's words flash through her mind: _Ozai lied when he told you that fear was the only way. It's not. _

Just three weeks ago, Azula wanted to change. She wanted to embrace Zuko's way of living. But here she is, about to burn this man or do who knows what just so that he'll be afraid of her. Azula lets her fire die out.

To his credit, Temurin hasn't moved. "No need for violence," he says quietly, hands raised. "Just let me do my business with Chu, and then all three of us can walk away." Behind Azula, Chu sits up, hand clutching his nose.

Azula's hands fall limply to her sides.

Temurin dodges past her, still looking wary, and hauls Chu to his feet. To Azula's surprise, the smaller man reaches up and holds Chu's face, inspect the Captain's nose professionally.

"It's definitely broken," says Temurin. He turns Chu's face to the side for a better look, unperturbed by Chu's blood smeared all over his right hand, and smirks. "Give me a twenty percent discount on my goods, and I'll put your nose back where it belongs."

"Get off me, Temurin," Chu angrily pushes Temurin's hand's away, then winces.

Temurin laughs. "So where's my crate?" he asks.

"Half an hour ago, I sold your cargo to some women paying double what you told me the value was, you cheap con," snaps Chu. He turns his head and spits a mouthful of blood onto the cobbled street.

"We had an agreement, Chu." Temurin's no longer smiling, a glint of something hard coming into his eyes. "You can't just—"

"Sorry Temurin. It's just business. Now fix my nose, why don't you?" Chu winces again and probes his own nose experimentally before hissing in pain.

"Find yourself another doctor," Temurin says harshly. He glances at Azula, who's been watching this exchange numbly. Did she really decide not to punish these two for their arrogance?

"You should go, young lady," Temurin says. "As you said, Chu's an extortionist. And someone like you shouldn't be hanging around the docks at night." And without a backward glance, he pushes past her and is lost in the crowd. Sages. These peasants and their suppliers and their cargo, all acting as if commerce is life or death. But they probably have nothing more important to do.

Chu looks at her warily. "You heard Temurin," he says. "Get off my pier. And don't come back."

"My pleasure," says Azula flatly. She's tempted to kick him one more time, just a little kick to make him sorry, but she doesn't. Bullying this little Captain is so boring when she once double-crossed the head of the Dai Li in Ba Sing Se. She rolls her eyes. Now she sounds like Mai. Lost in her thoughts, Azula wanders off the docks, ignoring the hawkers and rickshaw drivers trying to attract her attention.

It was never her plan to banish herself to the Colonies. But Zuko upended all of her life plans with just a few words. For the first time ever, Azula truly faces a life where she isn't a Princess. A life where it is a victory if she fades into obscurity into some forsaken town. The thought is overwhelming and choking, and Azula feels the beginning of panic. If she isn't a Princess, who is she? Wouldn't it be easier to return to the Fire Nation, live with Zuko in the palace as he suggested?

_Remember why you're doing this. _Azula inhales deeply. Her presence in the palace would make Zuko and his family miserable. She has to disappear. Become someone new. Eke out whatever small pleasures she can. But again, the thought of living like a nobody terrifies Azula, scaring her as a brute like Chu never could. What does she have left? Her throne—gone. Her friends—traitors. Her father—dead. Her power, her identity, her future, her dreams, all out of reach forever, leaving her hands empty with longing.

Azula shakes herself. She knows her thoughts have a tendency to spiral, and once they spiral far enough, madness falls. She needs to keep her mind in order. She must find food and shelter. She has to survive.

Azula looks up and realizes she's drifted into a commercial area, with food stalls lining the crowded streets. Grubby peasants hawk a variety of Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation foods, chattering and yelling at each other over the hiss of frying food. Smoke and steam rise from the stalls. By now the sky is tinged with only the faintest traces of orange; Azula should find somewhere to stay soon. On the prowl for an inn, Azula buys a stick of roasted platypus-bear and meanders deeper into the city.

A boy bends a small spark of fire and lights a street lantern, then moves to light the next lamp. The street brightens. The string of lamps flicker like fireflies on a summer night at the palace. Red lanterns hang outside gaudy house fronts. Chewing on her stick of meat, Azula looks at the upper windows of these apartments, where women laugh and beckon at passers-by from the window. The red light glances off their skin. Azula thinks the effect is ominous and bloody rather than appealing, but the men on the street wolf-whistle at the women.

_There might be cheap accommodations here_, thinks Azula, still staring at the glittering red jewelry and embroidered dresses of the window women. Brothels sometimes have a spare room for guests, rather than customers. But then one of the ladies titters shrilly, and Azula frowns. Too loud.

The door to the brothel bangs open, and out spill ten to fifteen young men. Azula continues to eat casually while observing them. They aren't in uniform, but Azula can tell by their bearing that they are soldiers. By the color of their eyes and skin, they are Earth Kingdom. But Taiyang still belongs to the Fire Nation; what are they doing here? Azula scowls and tosses the remains of the snack to the side. If Zuko knew about this, he'd be furious. The soldiers move out into the streets, shoving each other and laughing. They probably won't recognize her, but better safe than sorry. Without drawing attention to herself, Azula ducks into an alley to her left.

It's cooler here in the shadows, away from the press of people. But Azula's not alone. Just a few meters ahead, four men form a half-circle around another man, who's backed up against the alley wall.

"Gentlemen," the cornered man says. He raises his hands in a familiar and placating gesture. "I'm sure you don't really have to—"

A tall man punches him in the stomach, and the loner gasps and hunches over, face turning towards Azula for the first time. It's the man from the docks. Temurin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Temurin storms away from Chu's ship, fuming. How dare Chu sell his medicine to someone else? It's his own order! Not for the first time, Temurin mentally chastises himself for being naïve. Of _course _Chu would renege on the deal. Everyone breaks their word. Yet one would think saving Chu from a beating would merit some consideration. If Temurin hadn't intervened and defused the situation, that firebender girl might have killed Chu.

"Ungrateful, thick-wittted, cheating bastard," Temurin mutters darkly. He weaves his way through the crowd, making his way to the red-light district where Crooked Zhao and her men rule. She's the only one in Taiyang who has the knowledge, nerve, and money to hijack his medicine shipment.

Unfortunately, she's also a ruthless criminal, rumored to be backed by the Earth King himself.

For a moment, Temurin stops and contemplates just walking away from the cargo, setting off south without it. He can make his way as a doctor; he doesn't actually need this sale. But he's tired of things being stolen from him.

Ignoring the street food, vendors, and lurid red lanterns, Temurin cuts into an alley to Zhao's brothel-turned-office. Behind him, the street lamps flare into life one after the other. He'll just ask to talk to Zhao, maybe buy his shipment back. Or better yet, he could spin this theft into a better deal. Maybe Zhao would be interested in the opportunity to sell farther south…

Temurin approaches the ramshackle four-story building a knocks on the door. Even as he knocks, he has second thoughts. It's getting dark, and Temurin spent his youth studying for the Yu Dao exams, not learning how to defend himself. But the deed is done, and the door swings open, revealing a snot-nosed young man.

"I'm here to see Zhao," Temurin says quickly. "We have business to discuss."

"Temurin?" An older woman appears, and the boy who opened the door steps aside. The woman's nose crooks sharply to the left, and Temurin makes an educated guess.

"Mistress Zhao!" he says heartily. "I'm here with a business opportunity."

Crooked Zhao sizes Temurin up with clear grey eyes that match her steely crown of braids.

"Come in," she orders.

A bit nervously, Temurin brushes past the doorman and follows Zhao down a narrow hallway. Despite the building's shabby exterior, the inside of Zhao's apartment is clean and well lit. Zhao's hair is spiked with jade hairpins which rattle softly with her every step. Her tunic is an Earth Kingdom green, embroidered with a large golden coin: the sigil of the king reigning in Ba Sing Se. Temurin remembers his grandmother used to have a coin like it, a relic from her youth in the Earth Kingdom.

_The rumors must be true_, Temurin thinks. _She must have ties to the Earth King. _Only a true loyalist would blatantly dress like an Earth Kingdom noblewoman while living in the Fire Nation colonies.

Zhao enters her office and sits behind a large granite desk, gesturing for Temurin to take a seat opposite her. But before Temurin's even settled, Zhao speaks.

"I've heard of you, Temurin," she says, folding her hands. "You're that young man who left Qima village to study medicine at Yu Dao University."

"I wasn't aware that was public knowledge," Temurin says carefully.

"Your mother is from the Fire Nation, but your father—"

"His family is from the Earth Kingdom," Temurin finishes quickly. For once, he's thankful that he looks like a pure Earth Kingdom citizen.

"And for the past five years, you've travelled around the Colonies as a doctor, leaving your wife and daughter behind in Qima." Zhao raises an iron eyebrow, disapproving.

"I didn't come here to discuss my parentage or my personal life," snaps Temurin, flushing. "I came here because you went to Chu behind my back and took my shipment."

He inhales deeply. "I want to buy it back."

"I'm not going to return your package just because you _ask_," says Zhao scathingly. "You know that as well as I do. Why did you come here?"

Temurin leans forward in his chair.

"I'm a licensed doctor. I have access to legal sources of medicine that you don't have. And since I'm constantly on the move, I can help you sell your product in multiple towns across the Colonies." He smiles. "I've been doing this on a small scale for years already. And if the rumors about the Colonies becoming independent are true—"

"Independent?" sneers Zhao. "You believe that?"

"Whatever the fate of the Colonies, changes are coming," Temurin points out. "And with change comes confusion. You can take advantage of whatever transition is coming to expand your sales to the south. I can help you."

"I know all about your little side operation," says Zhao. "That's why I bothered to talk to you today." She clears her throat and glances at a map of the Colonies hanging on the wall to his right. Her eyes glisten with an emotion Temurin can't read.

"You could help me acquire more product," Temurin adds. "I'd sell for you, using my contacts, and we'd split the proceeds."

Zhao is silent for several seconds.

"I know what happened in Qima," she says softly. She turns her head away from the map and stares at Temurin. "When family betrays us…it is a death from which we can never recover."

Temurin feels his face go hot and then very cold. He grips the handles of his chair.

"I don't see how that incident is relevant."

"It is relevant," Zhao says, rising calmly, "because now you understand that loyalty is everything. Those who lack loyalty…are utterly despicable. They are worms."

Temurin clenches his teeth.

"I don't hide my loyalties," Zhao says, waving a hand deliberately. "I have no need to. To whom are you loyal, Temurin?"

Temurin laughs shortly. _To myself. To the spirits of neutrality. To no one, anymore. _"To you, if you take me in."

Zhao searches Temurin's face carefully.

"Very well, Temurin," she replies. "You will travel south and sell my products." She picks up a quill and dips it in ink, beginning to write quickly. "You will also write me regularly, reporting on the political climate in each of the towns you visit. The post offices should still be reliable.

"Keep to your regular route. The whole point of hiring you is to have someone who doesn't draw suspicion," Zhao says breezily. She rolls up the paper and hands it to Temurin.

"The terms of our agreement."

"Thank you," Temurin bows.

"One more thing. I like you, Temurin, but I need to make something clear." Zhao lifts a bronze bell from her desk and rings it purposefully.

"Your audacity today is compelling. But your attitude, willful self-assurance, and chip on your shoulder will be your downfall. You think you've been wronged; well, so have we all." Four men enter the room and grab Temurin's arms. He struggles, but can't break their grip.

"Hey, what the—"

"Don't let your pride and greed get in your way, Temurin. If you prove disloyal, no official medical degree from a fancy university will save you." The genteel woman from earlier is gone, replaced by someone utterly ruthless. Zhao nods to the men holding Temurin.

"Give him fifteen pounds of the product. And teach him a light lesson."

Dumfounded, Temurin finds himself being dragged back down the halls, his boots scuffing the pristine floors. The snot-nosed man who first opened the door still sits in the hall, watching Temurin slide past while he eats a bowl of noodles. The doorman raises his chopsticks as if to say goodbye.

The men throw Temurin out into the alley, and his back slams against a waste bin. He bounces to the ground. Did Zhao just hire him and order him beaten? Temurin scrambles to his feet in the shaded alley. He smiles winningly, or as winningly as one can when covered in old food and bits of newspaper.

"Gentlemen," he says to Zhao's henchmen. "I'm sure you don't really have to—"

But then all the air is knocked out of him, and Temurin bends over, gasping. Another man punches Temurin in the ribs, and a third kicks him in the back of his knees. Temurin collapses to the alley cobblestones, mouth gaping like a fish as he tries to draw air. The bustling main street is within sight, but there's no way Temurin can escape to safety with four men surrounding him. The street lanterns at the alley entrance swim before his eyes, obscured only by the black outline of a slender figure. Temurin squints, eyes watering with pain.

It's that girl. The girl who broke Chu's nose. She's a few meters away, and Zhao's men haven't noticed her. She looks at Temurin with cold calculation, golden eyes narrowed. Temurin thinks about calling for help, but decides against it. Surely Zhao won't kill him. He will survive. Hopefully with all his teeth intact.

But then the girl stares directly and nods, her eyes determined. Faster than Temurin believes possible, she runs down the alley. Targeted blasts of fire hit each of Zhao's men, and they fall to the ground, some screaming as their bare skin blisters. At first, Temurin is relieved they are no longer smashing him into the ground. But then he's horrified.

He smells burnt flesh.

Temurin hopes the wounds are superficial. Even if Temurin is a disappointing doctor, he doesn't want to see others hurt. Yet more importantly, will Zhao see this impromptu battle as planned disloyalty?

One of Zhao's men gets back to his feet, but the girl is on him before he has a chance to draw a weapon. With the palm of her hand, she strikes upward at the bridge of his nose. Spinning, she kicks another of Zhao's cronies in the gut, and he stumbles back and draws a knife. Not seeing the weapon, the girl turns away and expertly immobilizes the other two soldiers through a series of brutal kicks to their knees.

It's horrible, yet incredible. But then Temurin remembers the man with the knife. Zhao's crony throws the blade, and Temurin yells a belated warning.

"Duck!" he cries. The girl instinctively flinches back, and the knife grazes the side of her arm before lodging itself in a waste bin. She sucks in a sharp breath. Temurin throws himself clumsily at the man, knocking him to the ground before he can pull out another knife. Their opponent's head smacks dully against the ground. He lays still. Temurin checks his pulse, heart beating fast. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he sense the slow throb of a steady heart.

The alley is full of unconscious bodies. Temurin pushes himself up, breathing hard. Zhao might really kill him for this. And worse, their deal might be off.

"Why did you do that?" Temurin demands. "I had everything in hand!"

"Say thank you, peasant," she answers bitingly. "If you hadn't fallen into _my _hands, you'd be bleeding in a garbage can." He words are clipped, her face haughty. Is she some kind of bounty hunter? Or an assassin sent by another dealer?

"We should get out of here," says Temurin. He'll apologize to Zhao later, when there's some distance between himself and Zhao's enforcers. But first…Temurin ducks down and grabs the sack containing at least fifteen pounds of yapian. One of Zhao's men must have dropped it when the girl arrived.

"We should leave," agrees the girl. "But it seems…" She touches the shallow cut on her arm with her index finger, then tastes her own blood.

"It seems I've been poisoned." She sways.

Someone roars with laughter near the entrance of the alley. Nearly a dozen young men, all with the same haircut, are stumbling towards Zhao's building.

"It…burns…" the girl says thickly. She glares at Temurin.

"Peasant, you owe me your life. You're a doctor. Heal me."

There's no time to explain the intricacies of his exchange with Zhao to this girl. And even though she has caused a lot of trouble, she did try to save his life. So when her eyes roll back and she topples over in a faint, Temurin catches her. She's surprisingly light for someone so ferocious. Quickly, Temurin ducks behind a garbage bin as the crowd of men crowd down the alleyway, clearly drunk, and stagger into Zhao's office. The door slams.

The girl moans indignantly in his arms.

"I have multiple antidotes in my wagon. You'll be fine," Temurin says. As a short term measure, he rips off part of her sleeve and binds her wound, then grunts as he slings her over his shoulder.

He wonders if she'll be able to pay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Azula wakes to the sound of singing.

_Guan, guan, the ospreys cry _

_My husband is gone _

_Yet another goodbye _

Slowly, Azula opens her eyes, which feel thick and heavy. She's inside a dark, wooden enclosure; mushrooms and herbs hang from the low ceiling. They let off a pungent, earthy smell. Glass bottles full of dark liquids line shelves to her right. Pulling aside the thick, musty quilt covering her, Azula sits up quietly. Her mouth is dry, and her arm throbs with pain. Where is she? And who is singing?

_He left for the city_

_He left by the sea _

_He left me still weeping- _

The voice is male and soars clearly through the dawn silence.

Azula spots a squat wooden door on the side of the enclosure. Careful not to make a sound, she pushes against it, and a beam of light shines through the crack. It's not locked. The peasant doctor hasn't tried to imprison her.

_As if he could_, Azula scoffs. Through sliver of light, she can see the back of a man sitting at a small campfire, stirring a pot. She's about to slam the door open and demand the doctor apologize for shoving her in this cart when Temurin starts singing again. Her hand falls to her lap.

_Yes, he left for his fortune_

_He left without me_

_So I cry with the ospreys_

_For things that can't be _

Azula leans her head against the wooden wagon's side, keeping very still. It sounds like a woman's song. An old one. The melody reminds Azula of a river, the words tumbling over each other like the quiet bubbling of a stream. She thinks of an Earth Kingdom house she once saw from the back of a Komodo-dragon. The cottage had a thatched roof and sat amongst lush green crops. As Azula's convoy had passed, a woman stood up, adjusting her hat and looking right at Azula…

Now Temurin sings wordlessly, his voice climbing even higher without breaking. Even without words Azula hears the song's aching longing. She wonders who, or what, Temurin yearns for. Or what she yearns for. Temurin's voice grows quieter and deeper as the song descends.

"But why cry, but why cry, for things that can't be," he finishes softly. Azula sighs.

Instead of putting her in an asylum, Zuko should have kept Azula in a room like this, listening to someone sing. Her mind feels clear. Right now, she knows Zuko is not her enemy. She knows who she is. And she knows she can never be Princess Azula again.

_It is possible to live by love, not by fear_. Zuko told her that just before she left. In the stillness of the morning, that almost feels possible.

But not quite.

Azula slams the heel of her boot against the wooden door, exploding it open, and jumps down from the wagon. She planned to roll to the other side of the fire, but once she lands, she staggers. Her balance is completely off. _The poison. _Azula rights herself, clutching her arm, and stares at the thin, dark-skinned doctor.

"So you're alive," Temurin says warily.

"If I wasn't, you would be a terrible doctor," Azula snaps. For the first time, she looks at her arm in the full light of morning. The wound is bandaged. Good. The peasant already acknowledges he is in her debt.

"You've been asleep for nearly twelve hours," Temurin says. "You're lucky I was there to take care of you, girl." He crosses his arms as if he's in charge.

Azula laughs, a high, peeling cackle that once silenced a room of Ember Island teenagers. Take care of her? It's a good thing she has an excellent sense of humor. Otherwise, this peasant's condescension would mean his death.

"Examine my arm," she orders. "Something is wrong. I still feel…weak."

"Descriptive," Temurin smirks. But he complies, walking round the fire to roll up her right sleeve. Without waiting for further instructions, he starts to unwrap her the bandages around her upper arm. Half of Azula's sleeve has been torn away.

With steady, dark fingers, Temurin peels back the last of Azula's bandages. She fights the urge to push him away—since no one presumes to touch her without permission, the list of people who have actually been in contact with her skin are few. The imperial doctor, she supposes. Mai and Ty Lee. Perhaps her mother.

Certainly, no one with Earth Kingdom heritage has dared lay a finger on her.

"I'll need to reapply a poultice to reduce the swelling," Temurin says. He moves to get it from the wagon, and Azula realizes he's changed since yesterday. He now wears simple brown trousers, a green shirt, and a Fire Nation style maroon vest. In the sunlight his close-cropped hair looks more brown than black. It's only a few shades darker than his copper skin.

He's also less mocking than he was at the dock, and less desperate than in the alley. As he returns with a jar of green paste, his face is perfectly calm.

"The cut is shallow, so you don't need stitches," Temurin says. "I'm just going to—"

"I'll do it," Azula says sharply. She snatches the paste from his hand and uncorks the top. It smells horribly bitter. Cautiously, she daubs the poultice onto the swollen red skin of her upper arm. It burns.

"I've been thinking of how you can repay me," Temurin says quietly.

"Repay you?" Azula asks. "Peasant, I saved your life."

"Stop calling me that," Temurin snaps. "It only makes you sound more Fire Nation."

"I _am _Fire Nation," Azula says proudly. "Is that a problem?"

"Not for now," Temurin says grimly. "The Fire Nation still holds most of the Colonies. So for now, we're all Fire Nation citizens, aren't we?"

Azula narrows her eyes. "Some of us are more Fire Nation than others."

Temurin snorts.

"Too true. But let's circle back to the point," he says. "Can you pay for all the time and effort I've expended saving your life?"

Azula doesn't carry money. She never has. So she simply dabs on more poultice, waiting for Temurin to continue. He takes her silence as an answer.

"I thought not," he says smugly. "So I have another idea."

"Choose your next words carefully, doctor," Azula says with a wicked smile. "The last man who asked me for money ended up with a broken nose."

To her surprise, Temurin smiles.

"Precisely. You're an _amazing _fighter. I want you to work off your debt by becoming my bodyguard.

"Before you say refuse, hear me out. You're clearly running from something—or someone. I'm a traveling doctor. If you come with me you'll never stay in the same place more than a week. You protect me from roadside bandits, I tell anyone who asks that I'm escorting you home, and a few weeks from now we part happily with all debts paid."

"What makes you think I'm running?" Azula asks, lip curling.

"Oh please," Temurin answers curtly. "You speak like a noble but dress like a pauper. That means you're running."

Azula thinks hard. He's right about more than he knows.

"Let me," Temurin says. Azula starts as he begins to rewind the bandages around her swollen upper arm.

"You didn't ask," Azula says reflexively. Instantly, she curses herself. She sounds like a child.

"Go ahead," she orders. She stares out onto the morning plains, thinking, trying to ignore the gentle tug of fabric against her wound.

She came to the Colonies with only one plan: disappear. That goal is well achieved by travelling around with a doctor. And yet…Azula frowns. There is something decidedly off about Temurin. He was being beaten by some thugs—who were they? And just as she fainted, she remembers seeing a crowd of Earth Kingdom soldiers stumbling into the building Temurin had visited. What is his connection to them? Is he an Earth Kingdom spy? A criminal?

"If you're just a doctor, why do you need a bodyguard?" Azula asks aloud.

"Bandits have gotten bolder since the end of the war," Temurin says promptly. "The roads aren't safe anymore. And I carry valuable medical equipment."

"I see."

The Broken Plains stretch endlessly eastward, glorious and golden in the last throes of fall. The grasses wave. The sky is scattered with a few delicate, wispy clouds, like the ending notes of Temurin's village song. Temurin isn't lying. But it doesn't take a genius—and Azula is one- to see he isn't telling the whole truth.

"So…will you join me?"

"I guess I don't have much choice," Azula lies, making up her mind. Let the peasant think he's in charge; it does her no harm. She'll travel with him as long as she wants, and when the moment strikes, she'll leave.

"Excellent," Temurin says. "Then I guess that leaves one question. What's your name?"

"Nekana," Azula lies.

"Nekana," Temurin says slowly. "Like the Fire Nation character in _The Dragon Queen_?"

Azula remains silent. She does not like the glint in his eyes. Not at all.

The girl is silent as the wagon rattles across the plains. She hasn't spoken in hours. Nekana has donned a decades-old Earth Kingdom coat that Temurin used to cushion crate of glass bottles. Her padded coat front is casually unbuttoned to reveal her now sleeveless red Fire Nation tunic, maroon pants, and curve-toed boots. Somehow, the look suits her hunted expression. At any rate, she looks more like a Colonial citizen and less like a Fire Nation runaway. Temurin holds the reins to the ostrich-horse loosely in his right hand, watching the black-feathered neck bob up and down ahead of them. In a few days they'll reach New Azulon. Temurin's heart lightens at the thought of seeing his sister again. He has so much to tell her…

"What is my excuse for traveling with you?" Nekana asks suddenly. "Am I your wife? Apprentice? Daughter?"

"I already have a wife," Temurin snarls, too harshly. His chest constricts with a brutal, familiar emptiness, and he suddenly feels like screaming. Perhaps he would, if Nekana wasn't here. _Jinlian, Jinlian… _He shakes his head. He has to focus on today. The ostrich-horse's neck rises and falls.

Temurin turns to find Nekana staring at him piercingly, as if she knows everything that happened in Qima and before. Her golden eyes are unnatural.

"Apprentice, then."

"That won't work either," Temurin says, swallowing thickly. "We're picking up my nephew Jirou in the next town, and he actually will be my apprentice. And before you suggest it—" he preempts her "—you're too old to be my daughter. And I already have one." _And nothing can replace her. _

"For a man with a wife, daughter, and apprentice, you're awfully alone," Nekana says sharply. "Almost as if you don't want them around."

"I didn't hire you to ask questions," Temurin says shortly.

"Did you hire me?" Nekana says softly. "Or did you coerce me?"

Temurin shivers. The first star appears on the soft horizon.

And for the first time it occurs to him that he is alone on the Broken Plains with a woman he knows nothing about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Over the next three days, Temurin keeps a careful watch on Nekana. He doesn't care who she is; not really. But the road south to New Azulon is long, dusty, and boring. There is little else to do but watch her. They pass other travelers perhaps once or twice a day, yet none of the dusty foot-travelers look like they want to make conversation. Usually when Temurin's alone he passes the time by singing. Yet he feels Nekana wouldn't appreciate that.

"Do you know why this land is called the Broken Plains?" Temurin asks Nekana abruptly on the third day. She's lounging on wooden wagon seat with her feet propped up on the dashboard, frowning pensively. To the east stretch the Broken Plains. The Plains are an expanse of sparse grasses punctuated by the occasional determined tree.

"Were the Broken Plains named for the thousands of widows with broken hearts after the Fire Nation invaded?" Nekana sneers.

"What? No!" Temurin shakes his head. What is wrong with her?

Nekana laughs.

"Tell me then, doctor," she says, waving her hand permissively.

"This used to be a forest. But a hundred years ago, Firelord Sozin's invading army cut it all down to fuel his tanks and warships. The Earth King did the same with the forest closer to Ba Sing Se."

"Shouldn't a hundred years be enough for the land to recover?" Nekana says, sitting up straighter. "Unless the roots—"

"Without the trees, the forest's topsoil blew away," Temurin finishes. "Besides, both armies kept cutting. The forest never recovered. Thousands of people had to move to the coast."

Nekana is silent.

"I didn't know that, peasant," she says.

They rattle along the dusty road. The dry flecks of soil coating their boots seem to take a more sinister meaning. Even if they heaped all the dust into one place, reassembled everything that had eroded away, they'd be left with nothing but parched and lifeless dirt where once there was a breathing forest.

"Was the river affected?" Nekana asks. "The one south of us."

"The Qima River?"

"Yes. Did the soil runoff clog the river? Make it slow-moving?"

"Yes. I grew up there," Temurin says, surprised. She's very intelligent. But why would Fire Nation noblewoman know so much about agriculture?

"You must have received an odd education, to learn about soil science," Temurin says aloud.

"Well, I was shocked to learn you're literate."

Temurin snorts.

"Did your family own an estate?" Temurin persists.

Nekana grins. "You could say that."

"And you had to learn to manage the land?"

"I learned everything about our estate," Nekana says with pride.

Another wagon rumbles behind them, pulled by two ostrich-horses. As they pass, Temurin nods pleasantly. The driver merely scowls and pulls down the bridge of his hat. The wagon rattles past quickly. Very quickly.

"Friendly," Nekana notes.

"I hired you for a reason," Temurin snaps the reins and looks over his shoulder. The road and plains behind them are deserted for miles. Except…

"How do _you _know about agricultural science?" Nekana asks. She's returned to her her arrogant, lounging position, apparently unconcerned by the prospect of bandits.

"My wife and I studied at Yu Dao University," Temurin explains distractedly, still glancing over his shoulder. Is that a dust cloud?

"Ah yes, the elusive wife."

Temurin feels his lip curl. Leave it to this girl to poke fun at something she knows nothing about.

"Everything about _you _is elusive," Temurin snaps, settling back on the chair. "And yet you don't see me asking intrusive questions."

"I'm sure you're dying to know, though," Nekana says lazily. She actually swings one leg over the side of the wagon, as if the splintery bench is her own personal throne. For a second, she reminds Temurin of Crooked Zhao: confident, almost casual, with a flint in her eyes that says she wouldn't mind dismembering someone if she needed.

Temurin shakes his head. He's overreacting; this is ridiculous. He looks over his shoulder.

The dust cloud is larger.

"There's definitely a wagon behind us," Temurin says.

"Then it will be the third wagon we've seen today," Nekana rolls her eyes. Nevertheless, there is a tenseness in her arm muscles that wasn't there before. Her leg stops swinging.

"You're right." Yet Temurin can't help but wonder if Zhao has sent someone after him. That would be just his luck, finally take a risk and immediately die for it…his ribs still hurt from the aborted beating.

They travel on in silence for another few minutes—or what amounts to silence on the road. The low thunder of the wheels, the creak of the seats, and the scratching of ostrich-horse claws on thin soil create a restless cacophony. Temurin snaps the reins again.

The peasant is getting nervous.

Azula cocks her head to listen to the sound of the wagon approaching them. Next to her, Temurin's monolidded green eyes are narrow with tension. Azula bites back a laugh. If Ty Lee were here, she'd say Temurin's aura is positively black with negativity.

For the past three days, the doctor has vacillated between attempting to engage her in discussion and ignoring her completely, as if he both hungers for conversation and regrets bringing her along. It amuses Azula. Quite a lot about Temurin amuses Azula, in fact: his touchiness about his past (as if Azula cared!), the way he thinks he's in charge of this situation, and his obnoxious know-it-all attitude. Sometimes, she daydreams about revealing her identity and her brilliance, shocking the peasant into appropriate subservience…

The most hilarious thing, of course, is that Temurin thinks Azula _doesn't know _about the yapian hidden a box in the wagon.

She found the yapian the night after they left Taiyang. Lighting a rare flower of blue flame, she had searched his entire wagon while the peasant huddled in a bedroll on the ground. Dried herbs, medical textbooks, a stack of letters bound together…she had begun to despair of finding _anything _that would explain Temurin's strange beating and even stranger behavior. And then, beneath a crate of heavy glass jars, she found it.

Surely it isn't typical for a poor, traveling doctor to be transporting fifteen pounds of illegal contraband across the Colonies. In the Fire Nation, this yapian would earn Temurin a life sentence. Azula would sentence him herself; the Royal Family must promote order amongst its subjects.

Even so, Azula can't help but see drug trafficking as a petty crime.

"Are you ready?" Temurin whispers.

Azula sighs. What can bandits or a druglord's cronies do to the rightful heir to the Fire Nation? Pride flushes her cheeks.

Then just as quickly, ice, horror at her stray thought. _Zuko is the Firelord_, Azula tells herself sternly. _Zuko is the Firelord, and I have to disappear. _Her hands shake. Is it possible she can forget what she learned so quickly?

Perhaps next time, Zuko won't forgive her. Even his love must have limits.

Azula summons orange fire with both hands, then extinguishes the flame, her stomach roiling. Perhaps it would be better for her to die on this deserted road, killed by nameless bandits of low blood, rather than watch herself become Zuko's enemy again.

The wagon pulls alongside Temurin's cart and kicks up a choking cloud of dust. Temurin coughs. Who is it? Azula tries to peer through the haze, but sees only swirling particles. The wagon could be full of Earth Kingdom soldiers and she wouldn't know.

The other ostrich-horse screeches as someone pulls its reins.

Azula summons fire. The orange light only bounces off the specks, making it even more difficult to see. For a second, she thinks she sees a bearded face spinning in the glowing dust, with cruel golden eyes…but it can't be.

"Brace yourself," Azula orders Temurin.

Swirling her arms over her head, she creates a spinning disk of fire and shoots it over the opposite wagon. With a _whoosh, _her fire blows away part of the dust cloud. She summons another firewheel and sends it careening between the wagons, sweeping away another layer of dust. Both wagons have stopped now, and through the remaining haze, Azula sees the outline of the woman driving the other cart. The figure stands. With a fluid twist of her arms, she gestures towards Azula and Temurin, braids flying.

Azula knocks Temurin flat on the bench as the water whip smacks the air right above where he was sitting.

"Waterbender," Azula hisses.

"Waterbender?" Temurin says, green eyes wide. "Wait—"

But Azula is already standing ready with two whips of fire.

Soldiers pile out of the back of the cart, striking fighting stances. One of them must be an earthbender, to have bent all this dirt. But Azula is focused on the waterbender. Another water whip flicks out across the gap between wagons, but Azula merely steps to the side and lashes out with a rope of red fire. The waterbender jumps to the ground to avoid Azula's blast.

"Wait!" Temurin scrambles to his feet and grabs Azula's arm. "Mila, is that you?"

"Temurin?" shouts the woman on the road.

Azula lifts her hand to give the killing blow.

"Nekana, stop!" Temurin yells. "I know her!" His hand tightens uncomfortably on her wrist.

Abruptly, the dust cloud of cover dissipates, banished by the hidden earthbender, and Azula finds herself looking into the steely blue eyes of a Water Tribeswoman. Her hair is grey, half of it swept into a looping Water Tribe bun, the rest dangling in beaded braids. She is thin, wiry, with tan skin even darker than Temurin's and lines crinkling her eyes.

Sages, Azula hates waterbenders.

"Mila!" Temurin cries, and leaps down from the wagon. "I didn't expect to meet _you _on the road. Why aren't you in Bahasa? Where is Yu-chen?"

"I had business in Taiyang," Mila says. Her voice is deep and gravelly. "Yu-chen stayed behind to watch over the Red House."

"What business would that be?" Azula asks sharply. Behind Mila stand four young men, all dressed in plain clothing. They reek of the Earth Kingdom army. Azula also can't help but scan for the black-bearded, golden-eyed figure that she saw in the dust. But of course he isn't here.

After all, Father is dead.

"Who is this, Temurin?" Mila asks.

"Nekana. Zhao gave me some…extra responsibilities, so I took Nekana on as backup."

"I see," Mila says neutrally. "Well, now that she has added you to the team I will tell you: be careful, Temurin. I hope you haven't gotten in over your head."

"I'm careful, Mila."

"Make sure your Nekana is careful, too," Mila warns. "Crooked Zhao does not tolerate mistakes."

Azula has picked out the earthbender: he's the short one in the back, the only one not carrying a weapon. A waterbender, an earthbender soldier, and a Colonial doctor all allied with this Crooked Zhao. What is the Earth King planning?

"We're sorry for the misunderstanding," Azula lies. "We hope Crooked Zhao will understand that her agents are bound to cross paths."

Temurin shoots her a sharp look. Azula smiles innocently from her perch on the wagon.

"Indeed," Mila says. "Indeed."

Blue eyes still boring into Azula, Mila flicks her hand, and the four men clamber back into the wagon.

"We have urgent business in Bahasa," Mila says. "Will you be passing through, Temurin?"

"Yes," Temurin answers, eyes tracking the soldiers. "After we pick up my nephew in New Azulon."

"Then Yu-chen and I will see you there." Mila climbs to the top of her wagon seat, surprisingly nimble for a woman of her age.

"Beware of bandits, Temurin," Mila snaps her reins.

Temurin, still standing on the ground, covers his mouth with his scarf as Mila's wagon lumbers away. The short earthbender sitting in the back snaps his fingers, and the dust cloud swirls up like a tornado around the wagon, hiding them from view.

"You keep odd friends, Temurin," Azula notes.

"I don't know much about friends," Temurin frowns.

"Then we have something in common."

Azula stretches out her hand to help Temurin up into the wagon. He takes it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_**Independence for Yu Dao!**_

_YU DAO_. _Last week Firelord Zuko, Earth King Kueh, and the Avatar made a joint announcement declaring that on the first day of the new year the former Colony of Yu Dao will become a free and independent state._

_Mayor Morishita, first appointed to govern Yu Dao by Firelord Ozai, will now head the new Yu Dao Council. The Council's members will be chosen by the Firelord and the Earth King from a list of Yu Dao citizens._

"_This is just the first step," says Morishita. "I am still a firm advocate for the independence of _all _former Fire Nation colonies. The new United Republic will be for those of us who are neither Fire Nation nor Earth Kingdom, and who instead want to create something new."_

_The Firelord brushed aside comments that (continued on page 4)_

Temurin picks up the gazette to finish the article, but the street vendor scolds him furiously. "You want to finish this story, you'll have to buy it!" she says, waving a crooked finger at him. "My son brought this news all the way from Taiyang!"

"What's this?" Nekana comes up from behind and glances at the title. Her eyes widen. She snatches the gazette from Temurin's hands and walks a few paces towards the wagon, reading furiously.

The street seller sputters indignantly. "Young lady—"

"I'll pay," sighs Temurin. It's been nearly a week since he and Nekana met, and by now he doesn't expect the girl to abide by social niceties. She nearly killed Mila on the road! He deposits a few coins into the old woman's hand and strides over to Nekana, who by now has flipped to page four.

"I was reading that," he says. She ignores him completely—again, nothing new. Temurin settles for reading over Nekana's shoulder.

_The Firelord brushed aside comments that Yu Dao or any future 'United Republic' are in fact Fire Nation puppet states._

"_The Fire Nation voluntarily withdrew its military from the Earth Kingdom," Firelord Zuko said, looking harried. "And we will withdraw permanently from Yu Dao and the current Colonies once the borders are decided. I will not leave Yu Dao unprotected. But the Fire nation has no say in how the Yu Dao Council governs itself."_

_The Avatar confirmed that more changes are coming for the Colonies. "Negotiations are ongoing," he told _Colonial Gazette _reporters. "Next we'll be trying to determine which other Colonies want to join Yu Dao in independence."_

_When asked about rumors of Earth Kingdom soldiers spotted in major cities Colonies, the Earth King replied that "The Earth Kingdom Army is dedicated to protecting all people who call the Earth Kingdom home." He declined to comment on the expansion of Yu Dao into a United Republic._

_Whether or not there will be a United Republic, one thing is clear: two months from now, Yu Dao will join the ranks of the Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom, and two Water Tribes as an independent country._

At the bottom of the article is a detailed woodcut print of the Firelord shaking hands with the Earth King while the Avatar beams in between them.

"Wow," says Temurin. He nudges Nekana, who is still staring at the print. "This is big!" Indeed, when he looks around the New Azulon town square, he sees many people poring over copies of the article. A colonial official pounds up an abridged version to the central notice board. Temurin allows himself to smile. Independence for the Colonies? Without a war? It seems too good to be true. It probably _is _too good to be true. He wonders what Zhao thinks about this. Is independence enough for her?

"He's keeping his word," says Nekana, finally putting down the newspaper.

"Who?"

"Zuko. The Firelord," she says. "He promised to keep the Colonies out of Earth Kingdom hands."

"Did he?" Temurin doesn't remember the Firelord _promising _anything like that, but it's possible he missed something while traveling. He shrugs.

"We should get to my sister's house," says Temurin. "She'll be excited to hear the news."

Nekana looks at Temurin strangely. "You seem…happy. Do you support independence?" Her lip curls.

"I'm not very political," says Temurin. "Most of the war is posturing between angry fools who don't care who gets caught in the middle."

"But?"

"But my father is from the Earth Kingdom, and my mother first came to the Colonies as the maidservant of a Fire Nation noblewoman." He stops to let a small cart rattle by, then leads their ostrich-horse across the street. The medicine wagon clatters noisily behind them.

"I don't want the Fire Nation to stay in control. But I also don't want my mother deported back to the Fire Nation, which is what the Earth Kingdom would do."

"You don't look very Fire Nation."

"It sometimes works out that way," says Temurin wryly, thinking of the hours he spent in genetics class at Yu Dao University.

"I know," snaps Nekana. "Most observable Fire Nation traits are recessive."

_Impressive. _She clearly had excellent tutors. They turn right at another intersection, the wagon barely making the curve.

"Did you ever study how bending abilities are passed on?" asks Temurin as they enter a quieter street.

"No," says Nekana, her eyebrows lifting. "Did you?" For the first time in over a week, she seems actually interested in something he has to say.

"Yes, it's quite fascinating," Temurin says eagerly. "Were either of your parents firebenders?"

"My father."

"Right, okay," answers Temurin. "Good example. Being a bender doesn't just depend on having the gene for firebending or earthbending. You also have to have what gene scholars call the 'spirit' gene…"

For the next half hour, Temurin shares what he learned in medical school. It's been so long since he could talk like this with someone. Nekana is eerily intelligent, asking questions he would expect from a second or third year student. And when she's curious she forgets to be demanding.

"This must be fascinating to study in the Colonies," Nekana says excitedly. "Since there are so many more mixed-race people, you have more earthbending genes coming in contact with firebending genes."

"Precisely!" says Temurin. "There's also a class element: over time, benders have risen to the aristocracies of the three nations. Constant intermarriage keeps bending abilities mostly concentrated in the upper ranks. But in the Colonies, class has started to blur a little, so almost anyone you meet can be a bender."

"Is anyone in your family a bender?" asks Nekana.

"No," says Temurin. "We're artisans, mostly."

They've entered a residential area, full of brick or earthbender-created houses. Vines creep across the brick wall to Temurin's right. They probably bloom with flowers in the springtime. The road turns to dirt, and the wagon kicks up an incredible cloud of dust. Temurin coughs and squints, wondering if he should stop walking the ostrich-horse and get up on the high driver's seat.

"Here." Nekana hands Temurin a handkerchief, her own face already covered. He accepts with a nod and ties the cloth around his face. It blocks the dust fairly well.

"I wonder if you could breed the perfect firebender," muses Nekana, her voice slightly muffled. "By going through parents' genealogy and making sure both parents have the correct 'fire' and 'spirit' genes."

"You probably could," replies Temurin warily. "But should you?"

Nekana looks at Temurin like she doesn't understand the question.

"I guess you could make a lot of money off of that kind of matchmaking," Temurin concedes. It's not a half bad idea. Although only the nobles would have records of their ancestry.

"Money," scoffs Nekana. "Is that all you care about? Think of the _power _you'd wield if you could breed a cadre of elite fire, earth, and waterbenders."

"You seem awfully preoccupied with power for…who are you again?"

Nekana's golden eyes narrow over the top of her handkerchief. Temurin wonders how common such distinctive eyes are in the Fire Nation.

"Politics have always been a hobby of mine," Nekana replies after a pause.

_This girl is far more than she says_, Temurin thinks. Those golden eyes…

They pass a signpost, but the dust cloud obscures the characters. Temurin pulls back sharply on the lead rope and the ostrich-horse squawks. His sister's house is on this road somewhere. Up ahead, Temurin spots a small figure running towards them, down the winding road between the houses. He squints.

"Uncle!" yells the boy.

"Jirou!" Temurin shouts back. He drops the lead rope and waves at his soon-to-be apprentice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Temurin thrusts the rope attached to the ostrich-horse into Azula's hands and jogs forward a few paces to meet the dust-covered boy. Azula eyes the ostrich-horse distrustfully. She's ridden swimming lizards and Komodo-rhinos, but ostrich-horses are practically farm animals, untrained and filthy. Ahead of her, Temurin pulls down his bandana and sweeps his nephew into a hug, causing a small cloud of dust to puff up from the impact.

"Hey Jirou!" Temurin grins.

"You're more than three weeks late!" Jirou says indignantly.

"I know," replies Temurin. Something flickers across his face. "I was delayed."

He claps his nephew on the back. "But I told you I'd come before winter to train you, right? And I kept my word."

Jirou nods, eyes bright.

Azula clears her throat loudly.

"Oh. Yes. Jirou, this is Nekana. She's travelling south and decided to ride with me for safety," explains Temurin smoothly. He lies easily.

"It's nice to meet you," says Jirou politely. Belatedly, Azula tugs down the kerchief and reveals the rest of her face. The boy is lean and is and the end of childhood. Although his face is smudged with dirt, his gaze is as intelligent as Temurin's. Neither of them would ever be mistaken for nobles, of course, but they have a spark of common cleverness.

"Temurin!"

A woman stands on front steps of a small clay house to their right. She's holding a basket of brightly-colored yarn, but quickly sets it down and runs down the steps toward the road. Behind her, several small children appear in the door. For some reason, they are all spattered with various shades of blue and purple.

"Aliya," Temurin smiles. The woman stops a few paces in front of him and frowns. Her face is slightly lined and her thick black hair is flecked with white and pulled up into a ponytail. Just like the children at the door, her hands are dyed a deep blue-purple.

"You've lost weight," pronounces Aliya. "And you're late this season." She frowns and brushes a stray hair out of her eyes. Then, without warning she pulls Temurin forcefully into a hug.

"Come on, _jie,_ it's not that bad," says Temurin, voice is muffled. His shoulders relax into the hug and he holds Aliya tightly, neck bowing to bury his face in her hair. Aliya's brows furrow as the embrace lasts several seconds.

Azula shifts uncomfortably, a lump in her throat. The ostrich-horse turns its head to glare at her with one beady eye.

"What are you looking at?" Azula mutters darkly at the creature. She jerks the lead rope harder than she needs to and ties the ostrich-horse to a nearby fencepost.

A few steps ahead, Temurin and his sister finally break apart.

"This is Nekana. She's traveling with me for safety," Temurin preempts as Aliya moves to greet Azula. He shoots Azula an oddly pleading look.

What? Is he afraid Azula will blow their cover? Or tell his sister and her son what's hidden at the bottom of the wagon?

"You are welcome in my home," Aliya says, looking slightly confused. She takes Azula's hand, and Azula flinches. Aliya's hands are rough, calloused, and stained a blotchy indigo. The edges of her nails bright blue.

"You must be relieved to see other people, if you've travelled with my brother all the way from Taiyang!" Aliya teases. She lets Azula go and heads back to the house.

"Temurin's always been such a know-it-all," Aliya continues as they cross the threshold. "I bet he's been boring you and chattering on about science and dirt and healing and who knows what else. Honestly, it was a relief when he finally went away to Yu Dao!"

The inside of the house is cool and sheltered from the sun. As they move towards the back, Azula notices a room full of vast vats of purple dye, small channels like irrigation furrows cut into the floor. But before Azula can ask about it, they've moved into the kitchen. Blue fabric hangs from clotheslines in the back courtyard, visible through a large open window. The indigo cloth ripples and dance in the wind, oddly hypnotic. Azula exhales deeply as she watches them twist gracefully and unpredictably.

"You should have sent a letter, Temurin," scolds Aliya, setting out a bowl of rice and some hard-boiled eggs. "If you had, I would have bought you some quail eggs!"

"I'm sorry," Temurin apologizes. He sits on a short chair at the table. Another child, presumably one of Aliya's, toddles up to Temurin. He picks her up and settles her in his lap. The gesture reminds Azula of Zuko and Kazuto. She grips the chair tightly.

Aliya lights a fire under the stove before Azula can volunteer to help.

"Speaking of letters," the older woman says, fanning the spark lightly with her hand. "I have one for you."

"Oh?" asks Temurin, looking up from peeling an egg. The shells are scattered across the tabletop, and the toddler in Temurin's lap picks up a piece and taps it happily on her own arm.

"It came just yesterday from Qima," says Aliya. "It's from Jinlian."

Temurin freezes. His egg is half-peeled.

"Can I see the letter?" He sets the baby on the floor and rises expectantly.

"You should eat first," says Aliya, her back towards them as she sets a pan on the stovetop.

"I'd like to read the letter from my wife, please," says Temurin, his voice chilly. Azula winces as tension fills the air. Aliya turns, wiping her hands on her skirt.

"Of course." Aliya's voice is measured. She pulls a thick grey envelope from her apron pocket and hands it to Temurin.

Without a word, Temurin takes the letter and roughly rips open the back flap. He pulls out two pieces of paper: a small note and a tight, official-looking roll of yellow parchment. Temurin's eyes dart from left to right as he reads the note, face darkening. He briefly unscrolls the parchment and glances at the heading.

"Ahh…" Temurin exhales as if someone had punched him sharply in the gut. His hands tremble.

"What's wrong, Temurin?" Aliya asks anxiously.

"Don't,_ jie._ Just—I need—" Temurin swears and throws the letter down, storming out the back door into the courtyard full of dancing clothes.

"Temurin, wait!" Aliya follows him out.

Azula waits for the two of them to leave before she pulls the two papers towards her. The scroll is just open enough that she can see the title: _Certificate of Divorce._

_ Well, I could have guessed that, _thinks Azula. She picks up the note.

_Temurin—_

_I signed the papers like you said. It's done._

_But my business with you is not done. You cannot take our daughter from me. I raised her—me. You can't expect your mother to love Haojun as I can. I want her back. Don't punish Haojun for what I've done._

_I'm getting married next month and I want my daughter to live with me. Write Mayor Sota and tell her you've changed your mind._

_If you ever loved me at all, have some pity. _

_-Jinlian _

The paper blurs. Azula sees her mother, gripping her arm tightly that last night: _We need to have a talk, young lady. _Ursa's eyes wide with fear as Azula laughed and told her Grandfather Azulon ordered Father to kill Zuko-punishment for Father's apathy following the death of Iroh's son. Grandfather dead. Her mother gone. And the lonely mornings at the breakfast table, and Zuko crying, and Father ordering him to be quiet…

The note flutters from Azula's fingers to the floor. _I want her back, _the letter said. Azula's mother left her, but here is a mother who wants her daughter back, and Temurin is stopping her._ I want her back. _

"Your mother didn't even bother to say goodbye to you," says Ozai. Azula whips her head around and sees her father standing near the still-burning stove. His arms are crossed, and he's dressed in the scarlet robes of the Phoenix King.

"She said goodbye to Zuko, you know," Ozai continues. He leans forward conspiratorially. "It's because you're a monster. Like me."

"Stop it," says Azula shakily. "This isn't about you." She backs towards the door.

"You're right," sneers Ozai. "This is about a different father. And he's tearing his family apart." Father straightens to his full height, looking just as he had looked the last time she saw him alive.

"You're dead," whispers Azula. "I know you're dead."

Ozai laughs softly. "As long as you're still breathing, Azula, I'm not dead. You know what we have to do."

Azula stumbles out the door into the courtyard, nearly ramming into Aliya.

"Nekana, he wants to be alone—" Aliya starts. But Azula passes her without a word, making for a figure standing alone amongst the streaming banners of blue and purple.

"Temurin!" Azula yells. He doesn't react. She pushes through the moving forest of fabric to reach him, finally grabbing his arm and turning him forcibly to face her.

"Temurin, you can't take a daughter away from her mother!" she says fiercely.

Temurin wrenches his arm away.

"You don't know anything, Nekana!" His cool is broken, she can see edges of pain through the cracks, but she doesn't care. Ozai is right. She knows what she has to do. She grabs the front of Temurin's shirt.

"Hear him out, Azula," says Ursa. She's standing behind Temurin, her long hair flowing in the wind like the indigo pennants around her. Her eyes are wide.

"What do you know? You left me!" Azula shouts, voice cracking.

"What?" Temurin yells. "Nekana, what are you talking about?" He struggles to escape her grip on his shirt.

"Azula, I'm sorry," says Ursa softly, her voice barely carrying across the courtyard.

_"Get out of my head!"_

Azula lets Temurin go, but now he catches her wrists and pulls her closer to him. His eyes are very green.

"Nekana, what—"

The back wall of the courtyard explodes. Chunks of brick and clay fly and Azula and Temurin are knocked backwards. Someone screams. And through the haze of dust and debris, five armored men appear at the gap in the wall. Their swords are drawn.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

_Bandits. _Azula raises her arms to shield her face from flying rubble. Something clips her shoulder, causing a dull ache that blossoms into a vivid throbbing. Instinctively, Azula swirls her legs in a circle, summoning a protective wheel of blue fire. It curls and lingers in the air, obscuring Temurin and herself from view, and Azula stumbles to her feet, clutching her right shoulder. What is real? What isn't? Ursa and Ozai are gone.

Temurin gasps for breath at her feet. Brick and clay are strewn everywhere so the explosion, at least, was real. And she's never felt physical pain during a hallucination. That means the men pouring through the hole in the back wall are probably real, too.

What are they doing here?

_Maybe Zuko sent them to kill me, _Azula thinks frantically. That would be just like him, to lack the courage to strike the final blow himself and instead send others to hunt her down, track her like an animal like he had the Avatar tracked, and maybe not even end it but drag her back to the insane asylum where there is no fire and no music…

A bandit strikes downward at Azula's head and she darts to the left, grabbing the hilt of the sword with one hand. Allowing the swing to continue downwards, she twists her opponent's wrists towards her at the last minute. His grip loosens, and she kicks him squarely in the chest. His sword is in her hands.

"Pathetic," Azula says, twirling the sword experimentally. The four bandits look at her warily—odd expressions on such brutal-looking men. But their armor can't stop her. Azula throws the sword to the ground. Zuzu always liked swords, but not her. All she needs is fire.

By the time Temurin finally manages to get some air back in his lungs, Nekana is on her feet, holding a sword. She examines it for a second before casually tossing the blade aside. And then she dives in, sending targeted blasts of orange fire at the four men still in the courtyard. Temurin's lungs still feel like they've been knocked clean out of him, but he knows there is no permanent damage.

Something crashes inside the house. Temurin turns to see one of the bandits kicking aside a chair as he enters the kitchen, sword drawn and ready. One of Temurin's nieces or nephews screams.

_No. _Not them. By the spirits, this can't happen to them. Temurin runs for the back door, tripping over a rock, and falls against the doorframe, still gasping for air. If only he wasn't so weak…the kitchen is empty. But then another crash breaks out from further down the hall and Temurin sprints forward. When he reaches the dye room, he skids to a halt.

The armor-clad bandit has Jirou pinned to the wall, throttling the boy with one meaty hand. Jirou's face is a red-purple, his throat is crushing inwards, and Temurin can't help but remember that one woman he treated for years and yet never recovered her voice. Weaponless, Temurin leaps across the room and tackles the man from behind, pulling him backwards with all of his strength. Jirou falls to the floor, inhaling with a horrible rasp. Temurin and the bandit crash against one of the giant vats of indigo dye before tumbling to the concrete floor. The vat tips over.

Thick blue dye splashes over Temurin and the bandit and washes across the floor like a colorful wave on the beaches of Taiyang. The room fills with a smell like the sweetness of bread but with a sour overtone of wet fur. Temurin's hands are blue, his knees are blue, and he slips on the slick concrete as he tries to stand.

The bandit rolls on top of him. It's not a surprise to Temurin when his struggles to knock the larger man off are in vain. The bandit smiles through a dripping blue beard while he moves his hands to Temurin's throat. His eyes are beady brown. Temurin yells desperately before his voice is stifled and roaring enters his ears as the blood is cut off from his brain. His vision swims. The pressure is too much and then—

Release. The strangler lets go and pitches forward. Aliya stands above them wielding an iron pan as a weapon. Temurin rolls out from under the outlaw, wheezing, and grabs the larger man by the back of his shirt. He tugs him towards the remaining urn in the corner.

"Oh, spirits," whispers Aliya when she realizes what Temurin is doing. But she drops the pan and helps Temurin drag their semi-conscious attacker over to the vat of indigo dye. They heave. The man tips head-first into the viscous blue-black with a sickening squelch. Temurin holds the man's protruding legs grimly, pressing downwards to leave no room for escape. As Aliya joins Temurin in holding the bandit under the dye, his sister's lips move soundlessly as their attacker's kicks get weaker and weaker. Finally, he lies still. Temurin relaxes his hold, peeling his sticky fingers from the man's boots. The bandit's pants are blue with Temurin's fingerprints.

Temurin tries to wipe his hands off on his vest. But his fingers are stained. He wants to vomit, but he can't, he just wants a bath.

"You seem to have handled yourself well."

Nekana stands at the doorframe, surveying the room now dyed a bloody blue. Her green coat is ripped, but otherwise she looks fine. Her eyes flick to Jirou, who huddles in the corner.

"I hope they didn't kill your apprentice," she says.

"Ma," croaks Jirou. At the sound of his nephew's voice, Temurin's legs go weak, and he has to grip the dead man's upside-down boots to keep himself upright. Jirou is alive. And he can speak. Temurin sloshes across the flooded room to his nephew and gently places two fingers against Jirou's throat. The boy moans, but the sound is clear.

"Temurin. This was not a coincidence," says Nekana impatiently.

"What do you mean?" Temurin tries again to wipe his hands clean, but it's useless. His pants are soaked through with dye, too.

In response, Nekana walks back out into the hallway, through the wrecked kitchen, and to the back courtyard. The charred bodies of four men lie neatly in a row, although one is so blackened he's unrecognizable as a human. Temurin swallows.

"Don't you recognize this man?" Nekana points to the leftmost corpse.

The man's throat is slashed, blood still oozing from the wound. Temurin concentrates on the face.

"He does look familiar," he admits. "But I don't…"

"He's the earthbender travelling with your Waterbender friend," Nekana spits. "Remember? The one who caused the dust storm?"

Temurin thinks hard. The man clambered into the back of Mila's wagon. His fingers snapped, and dust rose.

"You're right," he says slowly. "But why—"

"It seems Mila was right to warn you of bandits," Nekana hisses, a manic glint in her eye. "She was plotting to attack this town the whole time. But who hired her? The Fire Nation?"

"No," Temurin says bluntly. He knows who Mila works for. And where Crooked Zhao's loyalties lie.

"Who stands the most to benefit from chaos in the Colonies?" Temurin says, turning his back to gruesome corpses. "The Fire Nation? Or the Earth Kingdom?"

Nekana scowls. "The Earth Kingdom." Suddenly, she shudders violently, as if shaking off some dark spirit.

A distant yell breaks the silence. Nekana's eyes snap open.

"These weren't the only ones," she says grimly.

"Nekana, wait, stay here, you have to protect—"

But she's already gone, vaulting gracefully over what remains of the courtyard wall. An angry clucking tells Temurin she's stolen the ostrich-horse.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

Temurin steps carefully over two blackened bodies in the middle of the town square. The smell of roasted meat and burnt wood fills the air. To his right, a shopfront has been completely blown apart, as if the rain spirits struck it down with a bolt of lightning. The street is deserted, but ahead villagers crowd around a burning building.

"Get water!" someone cries. A few people break away, running for buckets or maybe the well. Wood splinters with a sharp crack. The left corner of the roof collapses with a flurry of orange sparks. The sparks drift in the smoky air. At any point they could catch the next shopfront alight…Temurin stomach twists as he runs forward uselessly, envisioning all of New Azulon up in flames.

But then, inexplicably, the vivid flames engulfing the roof start to shrink like a stove-fire deprived of the air the breath. It's unearthly, unnatural. Temurin pushes his way to the front of the crowd, past the line of people determinedly passing buckets of water, past crying children and weeping elderly. Are the spirits finally showing mercy? As he breaks through the mass of people, he sees a familiar figure facing off against the sparking blaze.

Nekana is covered in soot. Her eyes are closed. Her long hair flutters. Except for a gash on her shoulder, she seems unharmed. As Temurin gapes, Nekana stretches out her left hand towards the fire, as if she's commanding the flames themselves to bow to her will. With her right hand, she traces a flowing path down her left arm and down her torso to her stomach, then extends her arm away from the fray. She exhales. The air surrounding her right hand shimmers with heat, and a man steps back, crying out in surprise. But Temurin finds himself moving closer as the flames around the house slowly peter out. Nekana has sucked the life from the fire. Is this even firebending?

Nekana bites her lip in concentration. Her arms shake as they stretch outwards, channeling the heat from the fire back into the air.

The fire dies without a sound, and the smoke billow up in plumes of white instead of black. While the villagers clamor to enter the building, shouting of people inside, Nekana raises her arms to the sun before pressing her palms downward. She inhales. Exhales. Her eyes flicker open, bright gold against her ash-streaked face.

"Are you all right?" Temurin asks hoarsely, throat still aching from his near-strangulation. It's a stupid question for such an incredible moment. But he's never seen anything like what Nekana just did. Covering his awe, Temurin moves forward to examine a gash on Nekana's shoulder.

"May I?" he asks.

Nekana nods dully, shoulders sagging.

"How many were there?" asks Temurin. He pulls aside tattered olive fabric to see her wound more clearly.

"A dozen. I don't know." Nekana turns her head away.

Temurin freezes. This girl has burned a dozen people alive in less than an hour. Yet her face is smooth and unconcerned. Only a slight furrowing of her eyebrows indicates that she's at all perturbed. She meets his gaze defiantly, and he has to look away.

"Well," says Temurin, focusing avidly on her shoulder. "You save this entire village today. Without you, my whole family would be dead."

A vision flashes through his mind of Aliya face-down in a puddle of indigo dye, body broken…

Nekana shifts awkwardly. "I deserve no one's thanks."

Before Temurin can ask her what she means, a group of coughing people burst out of the smoking house, three immobile bodies carried between them.

"We need help!" a bearded man yells, falling to his knees. He's cradling the body of a child in his arms. Temurin leaves Nekana and rushes over. He checks the boy's pulse.

"He's alive," Temurin reassures the man. Soot stains the child's mouth and nose and his eyelids flutter. The child coughs and vomits on the ground. Glancing around, Temurin sees that some of the other patients are retching as well.

"Bring me some charcoal!" he yells, reaching in his bag for his grinding stone. Someone shoves a lump of charcoal into his hand, and he quickly grinds it into powder.

"A jug of water," Temurin orders, still crushing the black powder. This time, it's Nekana who sets down a vase, wincing as she strains her shoulder. Temurin mixes in the black powder and lifts the jug to the boy's throat.

"Smoke is poison," Temurin says quietly to the anxious father. The child drinks obediently.

"This charcoal will soak up the poison in his stomach, at least. And that will give him a chance." The father nods.

As Temurin moves to treat a teenage girl, the murmurs of the crowd behind him grow louder.

"Where did these bastards come from?"

"The Fire Nation can't protect us—"

"And right after the Firelord promised—"

"Well what if—"

Temurin tunes the voices out. There are victims to treat.

"The Fire Nation will probably send part of the Colonial Reserve once they hear about this," says Nekana nervously. "We should go before then."

"I can't leave now!" Temurin snaps. "I have a job to do!"

"This place is about to be swarming with soldiers," says Nekana harshly. "And you know why we can't be here when that happens."

Temurin scowls. But she's right.

"They won't arrive until tomorrow, at least," he says. "Let's stay through the night. Help whoever we can." Belatedly, he realizes he sounds like he's asking permission. Nekana simply nods.

The afternoon sun filters through the hazy air, reflecting off dust particles and illuminating beams of light from above. Nekana's sooty hair glimmers with reflected sunlight.

"We should burn the bodies," she says. "The bandits aren't worth the trouble to bury."

It's late and this briefing has lasted hours, melting the candles on the Firelord's desk to stubs. General Mak clears his throat.

"We have more information on the attack on New Azulon this morning."

The Firelord straightens up at his desk, dropping a calligraphy brush. Ink splashes across the parchment like drops of blood.

"Tell me," he orders. His face hardens. "Who did this?"

"We still don't know who's responsible," Mak sighs. "But now we know why civilian casualties were so low."

He proceeds carefully, not knowing how the Firelord will respond.

"Villagers speak of a female firebender from out of town. According to eyewitnesses, she almost single-handedly defeated the bandits. Some even claim she…summoned lightning."

"This woman…is she alive?" he asks haltingly, voice tightly controlled.

"We don't know," admits Mak. He hates that he knows so little. "She hasn't been seen since the raid ended."

The Firelord's gaze drifts to an old painting of the Imperial Family, fingers drumming on the desktop. Then he turns back to Mak.

"Ready my airship," he orders. "I'm going to New Azulon."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_While writing this fanfic I listened to the album "The Five Ghosts" by Stars. I actually got some of my plot ideas from listening to the songs! This chapter was influenced by "Dead Hearts."_

* * *

The huddle of people clustered around the burnt house slowly starts to dissipate. Azula supposes they are returning to repair their homes or checking to see if particularly annoying relatives have been conveniently eliminated. Or whatever else peasants do. She feels useless just standing next to Temurin as he treats a young woman with a deep sword wound in the meat of her thigh.

Although. There is something oddly fascinating about watching him clean out the wound, teasing out gravel with tiny tweezers. A young man kneels beside Temurin. He holds the woman's leg still. Father never arranged medical lessons for her, so she's never really seen the aftermath of an injury. Besides, the waterbender healer they kept imprisoned in the Capital always healed Azula's training injuries without using these…nonbender methods. Temurin pours alcohol over the gash in his patient's thigh. The girl hisses with pain.

"That was the worst," Temurin says encouragingly. The girl stifles another whimper. Nodding in approval, Temurin gets out a needle and thread. Barbaric.

"I'm going," announces Azula. "I'll make sure the wagon's packed for tomorrow." She edges away.

"You're leaving tomorrow?" The pretty young man gripping the girl's leg looks up. It's hard to tell when he's covered in smoke residue and bits of plaster, but he seems to be Azula's age.

"Yes, we're going," says Temurin distantly. He carefully threads his surgery needle.

"Is there a problem?" Azula threatens. The man's eyes widen.

"No problem!" he answers. "It's just—I've been hoping to travel southeast, too. And since my home was just destroyed—"

"You want to come with us," Azula cuts in scornfully. "But why would we burden ourselves with you?"

"Nekana. Don't be so rude," says Temurin. He tugs his needle through the edge of his patient's wound. "I'm sure this young man—what's your name?"

"Altan."

"I'm sure Altan can pay to join our party." Temurin's needle darts in and out of the woman's flesh and he ties off the knot with a flourish. Azula smirks. Nothing will ever come in between Temurin and a profit.

Altan lets go of the woman while Temurin wraps a thick white bandage around her leg.

"I can pay," Altan says hesitantly. "Once we get to my uncle's house in Bahasa."

"Fair enough." For the first time in the whole conversation, Temurin looks up at Altan. "It will be 100 kuai for the journey. There's not a safer place in the world than next to Nekana."

_Unless you're my enemy_, Azula amends silently. Still, it's good to hear that Temurin thinks he's safe with her. Especially since only two hours ago she almost killed him on Ozai's orders. Something darkens in Temurin's eyes. Is he remembering too? She must have looked completely insane, yelling at Ozai and Ursa, thinking that Mila's bandits were sent by Zuko to murder her…

Azula's stomach sinks. In the high of the fight she'd forgotten. But after all this time, after she thought she had reclaimed the dark corners of her mind, it happened again. She stumbles backward. She has to get away.

But as always, she can't escape her greatest enemy.

Azula runs.

Her cheeks are wet as she sprints out of the town center. People spring out of her way, alarmed, but she doesn't care. She's always been good at short-distance sprints. Faster than Ty Lee and Mai, even faster than Zuko. But look at them. And look at her now. Zuko and Mai have their perfect little family and rule the Fire Nation. Ty Lee is as happy as a beaver-clam with her Kyoshi Warrior freaks. Even Ursa has a new husband and a new daughter.

_Face it_, Azula thinks as a stitch throbs in her side. _They've won the race. _

Her lungs constrict painfully. Azula slows to a walk. It's only when she stops running that she realizes she's out of breath because she's sobbing. Months and months of clarity, only to fall back and forget what she's learned, forget that Zuko isn't out to get her. She went right back to following whatever Ozai said, even though it didn't make sense. What had Ozai said? That Temurin is the reason she didn't have a family? And she believed him...

Azula laughs hysterically until she's gasping for breath, tears still rolling down her face. She lowers herself to the ground and wraps her arms around the legs. She knows the reason she doesn't have a family, and it's not Temurin or Zuko. It's not even Ozai or Ursa.

Azula has no family because her own mind is her enemy. At any moment, she can forget who she loves and who she hates and fall back into old patterns. It's as easy as firebending. Zuko's parting words come back to her.

"_Rule by fear? Was fear why you came back to save me?"_

"_Do you think I'm asking you to stay with me because I _fear _you?"_

Azula buries her face in her hands. When she left Zuko in the Fire Nation she was so sure that she was doing the right thing. She was even optimistic that she could build a new life in the Colonies. But since she's been here, what has she done? Today alone she's followed Ozai's orders, hallucinated Ursa, forgotten that Zuko cares, and slaughtered sages know how many people. Even though they deserved it.

It's hopeless. The tears stop flowing as a strange calm falls over Azula. She's finally found a fight she can't possibly win. It's over.

"Never give up without a fight," says a young voice. Azula opens her eyes. Zuko sits in front of her. But not Zuko as she last saw him—Zuko as a child unscarred.

"You're not real," Azula says dully. "You're just proving my point that I'm hopelessly insane."

"Am I not real?" questions the boy. "Even if I'm not, you're still the strongest person I know, Azula. It's not hopeless."

"Look at me!" spits Azula. "I'm crying in the dirt in a no-name colonial town. Do I look strong to you?"

"You came here because you were selfless," says Zuko. He smiles. "You left because you cared about me."

"It feels like I have nothing left," Azula sobs. Tears stream down her face once more.

"Your journey has been hard, Azula," the boy admits. "But if you could see what I see, you'd know to keep on trying. There is a future for you."

"You're just a figment of my imagination."

"Don't you believe in spirits, Azula?" young Zuko says, an odd look in his eyes. With the utmost gentleness, he places his hand on hers.

"You still have a role to play for good, Azula. Just remember even at your lowest point there are people who love you."

He rises.

"What—"

But Zuko is already gone.

Despite Aliya's protestations, by morning Temurin and Jirou are packed.

"I don't see why you have to leave now!" says Aliya. She has walked with them to the center of town, which still bristles with fallen timbers. A large smoked pit-black with the twisted remains of the bandits-gapes where the notice board once stood.

"I have people waiting for me in Bahasa," replies Temurin, looking guilty. "I'm late enough as it is."

"We'll be fine, Mom," says Jirou. Remarkably, the boy has recovered from his near-death experience and practically bouncing to get going. Azula wishes he looked a little bit less like the vision of Zuko she saw yesterday.

"Temurin! Nekana!" The man from yesterday—Altan—approaches, carrying a tattered pack that looks like he pulled it straight from the rubble. Azula hopes that his house was the one the bandits burned down. Not the one she struck with lightning.

"I'm ready!" Altan says. His light brown hair flops pointlessly.

They set off. Dawn has long since passed. Azula glances upward, but the sky is clear. No Fire Nation airships or Earth Kingdom war balloons.

Not that Zuko would try to arrest her, of course. But he may think he can save her.

Temurin obviously feels the urgency, too, although he's fleeing the law for a very different reason. He flicks the reins to drive the wagon faster. Jirou sits at the back of the wagon, his gangly legs dangling over the edge. Azula and Altan walk alongside the wagon as the outskirts of New Azulon shift into grassy plains. She pulls a tall strand of grass and whips it around nervously.

"Ow!" Altan yelps as the reed smacks the flesh of his upper arm.

Azula rolls her eyes and checks the road behind them.

It's another hour before they see it.

"An airship!" shouts Jirou from the wagon. He points eagerly at the sky.

Azula looks up, hearing the roar of a distant turbine. Sure enough, an airship sails inexorably towards New Azulon. A Fire Nation airship.

"They must be sending support for the villagers," shouts Temurin from the front. "Based on what we saw yesterday, the Fire Nation is going to get a tough reception."

"It's not just disaster support," says Azula. She points to the Imperial Crest emblazoned on the side. "That's the Firelord's personal airship." A lump grows in her throat. Maybe it's her imagination, but she feels like she can see a tiny figure standing at the bow of the ship, looking back at her.

"Pick up the pace," she orders Temurin. The endless plains loom before her, eager to swallow her whole.

She is meant to stay lost.

Zuko kneels by the ruins of a shopfront and touches the charred front door. There's no mistaking it.

"Lightning," he whispers. She was here.

"The villagers say the woman left in a wagon going south, my Lord," reports Mak from a few paces behind. The General hesitates. "Shall I order them followed?"

Zuko rubs the ash between his fingers. Specks of black dust slip out of his grasp and drift away in the breeze.

"No," he says heavily. "Let her go."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Jirou throws the last dried lump of hippo-cow dung into the metal bucket. _Finally. _He thought being a travelling doctor's apprentice would mean he'd get to do interesting things, like sew people up or visit big cities, but it turns out "apprentice" means doing all the things Uncle doesn't want to do. Plus a lot of reading. Jirou brushes flecks of dung off onto his pants, hoists the bucket up, and makes his way back to the caravan. He has to tilt his body away from the heavy bucket as a counterbalance.

Uncle's wagon stands out black against the setting sun. The ostrich-horse is hobbled a few meters away and stoops to peck at the grass. Fingers growing numb both with cold and from gripping the bucket handle tightly, Jirou shifts the pail to his left hand. In the three weeks since they left his mother and siblings in New Azulon, he must have gathered hundreds of pounds of dung for fuel.

By the time Jirou staggers into camp the sun has almost fallen. Shoulders aching, he drags himself to the far side of Uncle's wagon, where he finds Uncle predictably engaged in conversation with Nekana. Uncle's face is flushed and he moves his hands as he talks.

"No, I'm not saying that all Colonials are well educated, but—"

"If you admit Colonials aren't even educated, why should they be able to make political decisions?"

"Because after all we've been through we should be able to _choose,_Nekana—"

"Go back to being cynical, idealism doesn't—"

Jirou thumps the bucket of dung down dramatically. A few chips fall off from the impact.

"I have brought the shit," he declares. Both Uncle and Nekana jump in shock.

"Jirou!" Uncle exclaims, noticing his own nephew for the first time. His mouth twitches like he's both amused and disapproving.

"Watch your language," Uncle admonishes. Nekana rolls her eyes and Uncle shoots her a stern glare. She only laughs. Nekana is the only one in their whole party who stands up to Jirou's bossy uncle. Maybe it's because she's a girl. Or maybe it's because she could probably kill Temurin, Altan, and Jirou in less than a minute.

Nekana drags the bucket over to the circle of stones next to the wagon and dumps out half of the dung. With a snap of her fingers, the shit bursts into flame.

"Without me you would all have frozen weeks ago," Nekana declares smugly. She warms her hands by her own fire.

"Don't we have a sparkstone?" asks Jirou.

"We do indeed," Uncle says, clapping a hand on Jirou's shoulder. "Thanks for collecting the fuel, Jirou."

Jirou wishes he could point out that he didn't have a choice.

"I'll start the porridge!" Uncle says brightly. "And Altan said he'll roast the gopher-rabbit he shot this afternoon."

"Nice!" Jirou's mouth waters in anticipation.

"Nekana also tried to kill a gopher-rabbit, but she burnt it to a blackened and inedible crisp," Uncle smirks.

Nekana rises, and the fire flares a foot higher.

"I'd like to see you try to catch a hopping, flaming gopher-rabbit before the meat is ruined," she says. Then she tilts her head and taps her chin in mock consideration with one pointed fingernail.

"Oh wait. You can't hunt at all."

Uncle sputters. Jirou envisions a terrified ball of fire bouncing through the meadow. The image is both sickening and hilarious.

"Is that the delicious smell of burning dung I sense?" Altan emerges from behind the wagon, also carrying a bucket of hippo-cow chips, and stands next to Nekana. His lanky form casts a long shadow behind him.

"Yes," Uncle answers. "We saved you some fuel so you can cook your gopher-rabbit, but I see you've collected your own."

"Excellent, excellent," says Altan distractedly. He runs a hand through his hair, then picks up the half-full bucket with his free hand.

"I think I'll roast the rabbit a ways away...don't want to scare the ostrich-horse with another flaming rabbit, poor thing. Nekana, could you come help me light my fire?"

"If I must," she sighs. The two quickly disappear into the darkness. Uncle wears a sour expression, as if _he _was the one who earlier this evening had picked up a chip of dung thinking it was dry and instead found it was all gooey at the bottom.

"I guess we'll start the porridge?" Jirou suggests.

"I'll do it," sighs Uncle. "You should catch up on your biology readings."

Jirou peers into the deep twilight. There is no friendly twinkle of firelight, and no delicious scent of gopher-rabbit.

"How long does it take to start a fire, Uncle?" he shouts.

A few hundred meters away from the campfire, the plains dip sharply and Azula can no longer see the wagon. Immediately, Altan drops the buckets of dung onto the grass and turns to Azula.

"Spirits, I've missed you—" he starts. But before he can finish whatever he was going to say, Azula uses both hands to pull him down into a kiss. His breath is hot and he grips her waist with both hands. Azula closes her eyes. She drops a hand from his face to trail down his chest, although the effect is probably diminished by the thick coat he wears. Nevertheless he pulls her closer and she finds herself pleasantly crushed against his chest. His mouth is oddly soft and sweet on hers.

He pulls away first. "I guess you missed me too," he says, grinning. "It feels like forever since we've been able to slip away."

"It's fine," Azula waves him away. She lived for eighteen years without significant physical contact; one evening alone won't kill her. He looks like he's about to talk again, so Azula stretches upward and kisses him again, harder. He responds as enthusiastically as ever. They sway in the post-twilight darkness.

Azula didn't mean for this to become a regular occurrence. But one night, sitting by the fire, she realized that she and Altan were the only ones awake. The firelight flickered across Altan's pale face, throwing his cheekbones into shdow, and she found herself admiring the almost perfect symmetry of his nose.

"What are you staring at?" he grinned.

"You," she replied. And then before she knew it, she was walking over to sit by Altan. Moving closer, like Ty Lee had taught her. And then tasting his strange breath, feeling the odd texture of his lips. When they broke apart she still wasn't sure what she thought. Kissing was…strange. Nothing to destroy kingdoms and face death over. It wasn't until later, when Altan moved his lips down her jaw to her neck, that head flooded her body and she realized what all those songs and poems were about. For the first time she felt like she slightly understood the madness that led Mai to betray her at the Boiling Rock prison.

Still, Azula hadn't meant her experiment with Altan to continue. It just…had.

"You're so beautiful," murmurs Altan against her lips. Azula winces a little, wishing he had complimented something else. But his ill-advised professions of affection are outweighed by his kissing skills. Azula wonders idly where he learned.

"We should probably start cooking that gopher-rabbit," says Altan, pulling away again. He bites his bottom lip guiltily.

"Very well," sighs Azula. She kicks a bucket over and throws a handful of fire at the dry heap. It catches.

"Roast away," Azula orders, and heads back to the wagon.

"You're not staying with me?" asks Altan, light brown eyes widening like a kangaroo-bear.

"I said I would help Temurin teach Jirou basic anatomy," she excuses herself.

Altan's face falls.

"I'll come back," she adds. There may be time for more interesting activities than cooking vermin over a shit-fire.

Altan beams.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Jinlian,_

_After what you've done, you're not in a position _

_I would never let my daughter near that oaf you_

_How could you even think_

_If you had only said earlier_

Temurin crumples up the piece of paper and throws it at the outer coals, nearly wrenching his elbow. He misses. Damn. Swearing loudly by each individual spirit he knows, Temurin rises and snatches the paper from the ground. The ink on the first two characters smears under his fingers. He tosses the note into the fire. The paper shrivels pathetically—edges turning black, then a crumbling grey with one bright line of fire. The heat consumes the crossed-out characters and crumpled parchment from the outside in—black, grey, gone. Temurin's words are ash in the plains breeze. But soon they'll be in Bahasa, then Qima, and Temurin will have to reply to Jinlian's letter.

Temurin stares at the coals. They slumber orange-white in a bed of black. Some non-bender mystics can walk on coals and even hold the embers in their hands without being burnt. He supposes the spirits must protect them from pain.

If only they did that for everyone.

Temurin buries his face in his hands. His daughter must be so confused. And abandoned. Why didn't he take Haojun with him that night, that darkest night? Instead he ran, he ran like a coward after throwing Jinlian out, he left Haojun and threw himself into his work. But he waited too long. Who knows what Jinlian's been telling her, what Haojun thinks of her father now.

And now Jinlian is married. To someone who isn't him.

The thought is ludicrous, unimaginable. Temurin would never believe it. Except Temurin saw them together with his own eyes.

The fire pops. A small ember lands on Temurin's pant leg, but he can't be bothered to brush it away.

Unimaginable. Impossible. Yet images of that worst night flash through his head. Temurin digs his fingers even deeper into his forehead, as if he could claw them out. But as always, he opens the door and there she is—

"What's wrong with you?"

Nekana emerges from the shadows and sits on the ground near the fire. Her hair is out of its usual ponytail and lays loose around her shoulders. The firelight tinges her skin rosy orange.

"Not your problem." Temurin quickly brushes the heels of his hands under his eyes.

"You're back very late," he adds caustically as he brushes the last bits of moisture from his cheeks. Nekana merely shifts her gaze to the flames, hugging her knees to her body in a fetal position. She still wears his green Earth Kingdom coat, even though the shoulder is shredded from the "bandit" attack on New Azulon.

They sit in silence. The fire crackles. Jirou is probably asleep; spirits know where Altan is. But even though it's late, Nekana still sits there and stares into the fire like she can see the future in the flames.

"I know you have a daughter," she says. "I read the letter."

Temurin rips up a clump of prairie weeds and throws the dry grass into the fire. They catch fire before they even hit the ground. The world seems to shrink to just their fire, a tiny bubble of light under the endless tent of the stars. But the deep, deep well of sorrow in Temurin's lungs reminds him that there is a world outside this clearing. Outside the firelight and Nekana huddled for warmth wait a whole universe of darkness.

"I doubt you know everything," Temurin says. "Did you know that I was laughed out of my village after my wife left me? What good is a man who can't hold on to his own?

"Did you know I ripped my wife off another man? That I threw her and her lover out onto the street at night while my daughter cried? That I left two days later and I haven't gone back?"

"Did you kill the lover?" asks Nekana. Her face is inscrutable in the fire's glow.

"No," Temurin says. "I didn't. Because I'm a coward." Another clump of grass glows golden-orange and disintegrates in the fire's heat.

"Cowardice is one way to look at it," agrees Nekana. Her face scrunches like she's concentrating. "But someone I know would say you were merciful."

"It's not mercy if I didn't have the guts to do it," dismisses Temurin.

"But you've killed before," says Nekana. "You killed in self-defense in New Azulon."

"Thanks for the reminder."

The bandit's blue-stained, bloated face swims in Temurin's memory. Was he working for Crooked Zhao? Then Temurin considers Nekana's words.

"Wait. Are you trying to encourage me by saying at least I'm not a murderer?" he asks incredulously.

"That's more than many of us can say," Nekana replies grimly.

Temurin bursts into laughter.

"Nekana, 'not a murderer' is a seriously low bar!" he laughs. After a second, Nekana joins in, relaxing from her crouched position. Her golden eyes narrow as she laughs and shakes her head.

"I didn't say you were a good person!" she clarifies. "You're just not the worst!"

This only makes Temurin laugh harder.

"You know what, Nekana? You're not the worst, either," he says.

A smile curves her lips, making her look like the young woman she is rather than a grim warrior. Then the smile quickly vanishes.

"You don't know me, peasant."

"I know you're running from someone. And yet you long to go home."

Nekana exhales like Temurin hit her.

"I am. I do."

She scoots closer to the fire, accidentally bumping into Temurin as she tries to get warm.

"Sorry," he says reflexively.

"Do you remember before the attack on New Azulon?" Nekana asks, ignoring his apology. "How I acted…a little odd."

_ If she calls shouting at the air and nearly strangling him 'odd.'_

"I remember."

"I read the note from your wife," Nekana says. "I grew up without a mother so reading Jinlian's letter…upset me."

"What happened to your mother?" Temurin realizes she's mentioned her father and brother in her tenuous backstory, but never her mother.

"What happened to my mother isn't important," Nekana says flatly. Temurin watches in mild concern as Nekana closes her eyes and breathes deeply in and out. She continues with her eyes shut.

"What I'm trying to say is: I grew up without a mother. That was hard. Children should have a mother. Daughters should have a mother."

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

Nekana's wide gold eyes flicker open, and Temurin is struck again by how very young she looks. Maybe it's the dying firelight against her clear skin. Or maybe it's just that her hair is down, softening the sharp edges of her face.

"I don't want Haojun to grow up without a mother!" he tells Nekana fervently. "But how can I trust Jinlian with anything after this?"

The fire is almost dead now, its heat gone. His breath puffs out in white plumes; the tip of Nekana's nose is red with cold. He shivers.

"Your problem isn't that you don't trust Jinlian with Haojun. You're just hurt."

Temurin scowls. It's a bit galling to hear the truth spoken aloud.

"You don't pull any punches, Nekana," he says finally.

Nekana smirks. "So you do know me!"

"_So you do know me/Like the river knows the bank_," Temurin sings. "Do you know that song?"

"Of course not," Nekana scoffs. "It sounds like folk music."

"Ah yes, and Princess Nekana never listens to peasant music."

Nekana laughs oddly and flops onto her back, looking at the stars.

"Just sing, peasant, before I change my mind."

He sings until Altan wanders in from the darkness, holding a scorched yet undercooked rabbit and wearing a sheepish expression.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Altan has always loved mornings. In the desert where he grew up, the morning cool was treasured: a time to water the turtle-camels, a time to pack up the tent poles and wrap them in oil cloth, a time to admire the stars glimmering through the grey blanket of dawn. As a child Altan loved the feel of sand running cool and soft through his fingers. The smell of his grandmother's lamb and bread stew filled the air while sky-eels wailed far overhead.

But the mornings were also a time of waiting. Of watching the horizon. Of listening for a shrill whistle that meant the dark figures approaching were Altan's mother and her raiding party, not Fire Nation soldiers. In the desert there is nowhere to run. So every morning Altan and his grandmother sipped their stew and listened. The morning is where fates are decided. And not by Altan.

As Altan loads his sleeping pack into Temurin's wagon, he can't help but scan the plains horizon. Tall grasses leeched of color stretch endlessly to the east, north, and south. To the east rise tall, lumpy mountains sticking straight up to the sky. Yet even when Altan strains his eyes, no dark specks ride towards them. Altan tightens a strap on the wagon's tarp cover. The war is over. The Avatar won.

But Altan and his clan lost.

A blast of orange fire explodes through the quiet. Instinctively, Altan hits the ground. But when he dares to look up, he immediately feels deeply foolish.

Nekana stands in the tall grasses with palms smoking. Quick as lightning, she drops into a crouch and releases two blasts of fire. She rises again and draws a fiery arch with her left foot. Then her right. Even though it's frigid, Nekana wears a sleeveless red shirt. Her right upper arm is wrapped in bandages, but it doesn't seem to impede her mobility at all as she cycles through a series of complex firebending forms.

"She is something, isn't she?" Temurin glances up from fastening a harness on the ostrich-horse. Altan quickly scrambles up from his prone position.

"Ah…yes," he agrees awkwardly.

"I don't know her that well," Temurin says. "But I know you even less."

Altan can't think of anything to say to this, so he focuses on brushing the sod from the back of his pants.

"Nekana is a very special person," Temurin continues. "She's strong, but she's been through a lot."

"Everyone in the Colonies has been through something."

"That's true." Temurin pats the ostrich-horses's flank. "But I get the feeling that Nekana has had it worse than most."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying be careful, Altan. Don't be an asshole."

"Why would I-"

Something bright flue flares in Altan's peripheral vision. Nekana swears loudly.

"What was _that_?" Altan mutters.

Temurin's eyes, already thin, narrow even further.

"Like I said, Altan. Be careful."

Nekana practices firebending until the sky is pale pink. Unlike the Fire Nation soldiers Altan has seen before, Nekana manipulates fire like the flames are an extension of her body, weaving and bending the fire like water, brimming with a power Altan has always wished he had.

When she finishes her workout, Nekana plants a kiss on the corner of Altan's mouth.

"Where did you learn to bend like that?" Altan asks in wonder.

"I don't want to give you nightmares," she grins wickedly.

"You couldn't possibly."

Yet when they kiss, Altan can't tell if the thrill in his stomach is fear or desire.

Surely together they can chase away the nightmares.

Azula walks towards Bahasa with a spring in her step. Temurin says it's only a six-hour journey to the city and—to Azula's deep amusement—forces Jirou to ride in the back of the wagon because 'you only see Bahasa for the first time once.' Altan walks behind the wagon to keep Jirou company. The arrangement works well enough for Azula. She can look back and see Altan anytime she wants, but their separation makes talking impossible.

"Jirou is really too old for you to order him around like this," Azula tells Temurin dryly an hour into the journey. She glances back at the wagon and sees Jirou's legs kicking pointlessly against the wood.

"He's only twelve," says Temurin, lowering his voice. "Let him be a child for a little longer."

"I wasn't a child at age twelve," snaps Azula. At twelve, she was already Crown Princess: accompanying her father to the battlefront, honing her fighting skills, and advising Ozai on battle plans. Even _Zuko _was given his own command at thirteen, even if it was a futile mission to find the Avatar. If Jirou had been raised in the Fire Nation Royal Palace, he'd have been an adult for years.

"_Weak,_" sneers a familiar voice in the back of her mind.

Azula shakes her head.

"Well, I want Jirou to have it easier than I had. Or you had, Nekana," Temurin is saying. Then he smiles and bumps her shoulder unexpectedly with his.

"Besides, you have to admit, this view is worth the wait," he grins, gesturing to the mountains in front of them.

Azula sighs. Over a month of travel with peasants and criminals has taught her to overlook Temurin's presumption. So instead of taking Temurin's arm off she looks out at the scene before them, which really does look more like a painting than a real place. Stony crags of mountains stretch up straight in abrupt, unscalable peaks, the rocks covered in a furry green that looks like moss but must be trees. Misty clouds hang unnaturally around the tops of the irregular mountains, adding to the air of unreality. At the base of the stone forest, Azula can just barely seek a tiny dark speck that must be the city of Bahasa.

"It _is _beautiful," Azula concedes. She squints. "The rocks look like toes."

"Toes?" Temurin snorts. He turns so he's walking backwards and facing her. His eyes widen in mock horror, bright green against his suntanned face. "Kana, I'm showing you one of the most gorgeous places in the world, and you think it looks like _toes_?"

"What did you call me?" says Azula in disbelief. "Did you just shorten my name?"

Temurin shrugs and falls back to walk beside her.

"You are forbidden from calling me that ever again," orders Azula. She fixes Temurin with her most threatening glare, the one that made the head of the Dai Li agents tremble in his expensive boots. But the older man must be too stupid to be scared, because he meets her eyes almost arrogantly.

"You don't like it?" he asks nonchalantly.

Azula shakes her head and laughs. Temurin may be relatively intelligent for a peasant. He may even have a sort of business savvy. But when it comes to preserving his own life, he's clearly an idiot.

"Why are you so cheerful?" she demands. He doesn't have a whole lot to be happy about—an angry ex-wife, a daughter who probably hates him, and a load of unsold yapian in his wagon.

"I've made a decision," says Temurin.

"Oh?"

"Talking with you made me realize-" Temurin pauses. "I need to talk to my wife—my former wife—in person. We have to work out our daughter's future. So after Bahasa, I want to go south to Qima."

"Are you planning to sell yapian in your hometown?"

"What? No!" Temurin replies defensively. "My _daughter_ lives there!"

Azula doesn't see how selling in Bahasa differs from selling in Qima, but maybe she's missing out on some finer aspect of morality.

"I'll come with you to Qima—"

"Thank you—"

"_If _you tell me honestly: who does that woman Mila work for?"

Temurin wears a sour expression. "Can't you just leave it?"

"No."

"I don't care about politics," Temurin hedges.

Azula widens her eyes and deploys her most innocent expression. "It would be _such a pity _if you were waylaid on your way to Qima and you didn't have a guard. What would your daughter think?"

"Don't try to manipulate me."

"It's not 'trying' if it works."

"It isn't becoming, Kana."

"Who gives you the right to say what 'becomes me'?" Azula sneers, more than a little annoyed he's brushing her off. "You Earth Kingdom men and your superiority, no wonder your culture is centuries behind—"

"Is everything all right up there?" Altan shouts.

"Fine!" Azula and Temurin yell in unison.

Azula stews in silence. _Patience. _

"I don't want to walk into Bahasa without knowing what I'm facing," she finally says. "You may be apolitical. But I'm not. I can't be. Everyone who sees me knows I'm Fire Nation."

"I don't think you'll be in danger with my colleagues," Temurin says uneasily.

"Are you certain?"

Temurin thinks for nearly a full minute. Azula can practically see the gears turning as Temurin weighs the factors and possible dangers to himself. Azula doesn't delude herself that Temurin actually cares about her safety.

Finally, he speaks.

"Mila and I both work for a group with ties to the Earth Kingdom. You know what I do. I don't know what Mila does specifically, but she's a bender and a fighter. Her associate, Yu-chen, runs a brothel in Bahasa. But I definitely didn't know Mila was involved with bandits."

"Based on Mila's attack on New Azulon, it seems your 'group' wants to provoke another war."

"I don't want any trouble," Temurin says edgily.

"When you play with fire, trouble comes to you," Azula warns.

"Well, that's why I have you."

"Do you really trust me to protect you?" Azula asks, surprised.

Temurin blinks like it's a stupid question. "Of course I trust you, Kana. You've saved my life twice."

Azula gently pets the thick feathers of the ostrich-horse's neck. To her surprise, it doesn't protest.

"Your confidence is touching, Temurin. But even I can't protect you from all-out war."

The crags of Bahasa loom larger. The mists grow thicker. And one by one, buildings begin to appear from the fog: buildings at the foot of rocks, buildings carved into stone like caves, even a watchtower perched atop a high cliff. A river snakes around the city from north to south.

"Bahasa," says Temurin, almost grimly. "The first city to fall to the Fire Nation. The river jewel of the Colonies."


	13. Chapter 13

_Sorry I didn't post last week, friends! I had some friends over for the weekend and was busy. I'll be back to posting every week from now on!_

* * *

Jirou has only left New Azulon once before, when he went to Taiyang to visit his father. So Bahasa's tall, earthbender-raised walls and wide city streets are completely unlike anything he's ever seen. Bizarrely-shaped cliffs tower over them, dwarfing even the multi-story buildings. From the top of one of those cliffs, Jirou bets the merchants, soldiers, and street vendors look like a mass of swarming ants.

"Stick close," warns Uncle as they edge through the bustle of people. To the right a woman stands on an upturned crate, yelling at a crowd.

"_Now _is our chance to break free of the Fire Nation's tyranny!" she shouts. "We _must _vote to return to the Earth Kingdom and—"

"Traitor!" someone screams.

"Jirou!" Uncle barks. Jirou starts. He hadn't realized he'd fallen behind. He dodges a group of women wearing sashes painted green with the characters "liberation" to catch up with Uncle, Nekana, and Altan.

"What are they talking about?" Jirou asks. Uncle places a hand on Jirou's back, hurrying him along. Jirou shrugs it off.

"It seems Bahasa and a few other border towns are being asked to choose whether to join the United Republic or return to the Earth Kingdom," Uncle explains. "It's none of our business." Behind them, the crowd breaks into angry shouts.

Now that Jirou is aware of the protest, there seem to be signs everywhere. _Support independence! Down with Fire Nation puppets! Return to the motherland!_ People wear headbands with strange symbols and wave pennants still dripping with wet paint. The red paint on one flag looks suspiciously like blood. From a rooster? A group of men in grey robes and hoods glide serenely through the crowd, hands folded, murmuring prayers to the spirits. Some of the protestors fall silent. The crowd parts. But one tall woman, wearing what looks suspiciously like a dented shoulder spike of a Fire Nation soldier, steps right in front of the rows of monks. Without a word, she spits right in the lead monk's face.

The crowd erupts in screams.

Jirou wishes Uncle would slow down; from the way Altan and Nekana are looking around, they too want to see how the protests play out. But Uncle rushes them all around a corner and the protestors' shouts are muffled. Jirou strains his ears, trying to catch how it plays out. He wonders if there are protests back in New Azulon. After all, the Firelord _did _promise to protect the colonies.

"I still can't believe we are letting _commoners _choose to whom they will belong," Nekana sneers.

"Not again, Nekana!" says Uncle. "How else do you expect the borders be decided?"

"By declaration. From those with the right to rule."

Altan laughs unexpectedly. "Isn't that the way it works?" he says without humor. "Nekana's right. The powerful decide. And the weak are crushed."

"As long as we don't get caught in the middle, everything will—" Uncle starts.

Jirou sighs loudly. As Uncle, Nekana, and Altan argue, Jirou reads the street and shops signs, which are all painted in bright colors and hang haphazardly on the sides of buildings. In New Azulon, all the signs are indigo, the ink boiled in Jirou's mother's pots. He wonders how the local inkmaker creates that deep saffron yellow. Or the green bright as fresh shoots in spring. When Jirou skims across a character he doesn't know, he tries to remember its components. Uncle will probably quiz him on it later.

The lone wagon rattles noisily on the cobblestone streets. Uncle says they'll be staying at an inn for the next two weeks, which means Jirou won't have to spend his evenings picking up dried-out dung. Someone else will make the fires. As he envisions a soft bed a wood-fire, another batch of protestors hustle past the wagon, looking excited and holding more signs. These women look young. Almost his age.

Jirou glances at Uncle, who is still deep in conversation with Nekana. If Jirou explores the city by himself tomorrow, Uncle won't even notice he's gone.

Red. That's all Azula can see as she cranes her neck up at the garish building. Not only is the exterior saturated with red paint, but so are the door and the tiles on the curved roof. Even the carved phoenixes sheltered under the eaves are bloody crimson, outstretched wings glimmering with red glass, eyes specks of gold. Every window blows the gauzy red silk, and translucent scarlet lanterns hang from every shutter. Azula blinks. It's sensory overload. The thin, longing notes of an _erhu _float down from a second-story window and out into the empty morning street.

"It's called the Red House," says Temurin helpfully. "The best brothel in Bahasa. The red lanterns are how you—"

"I know what red lanterns mean," Azula snaps. She's not a child.

Temurin straightens his vest. Claiming he could tell the weather would be warm today, he stubbornly left his coat behind.

"So shall we head inside, or…" Temurin starts awkwardly.

Azula glares at him disbelievingly. "And _this _is the errand you said we had to run. First thing in the morning." Against her will, she flushes.

"It won't take long. But if you'd prefer, you can wait out here. I'm sure I can handle it myself."

"I should hope so," says Azula scathingly. She's still blushing, but tries to paste on a blasé expressions. They are both adults. But even so, she has to admit her life in the palace was sheltered in some ways. Never has she met someone so brazen…

"You're over Jinlian sooner than you thought," she finds herself laughing, high and false. "Well, as my friend Ty Lee used to say, the fastest way to get over someone is to—"

"Hold on," Temurin interrupts wildly. "Nekana, we're here for _business._ I'm not—we're not—" He sputters. His dark skin flushes red along the jawline.

"Business is one way to describe it."

"Kana!" Temurin half-shouts. A shopkeeper sweeping the stairs to their right glowers at Temurin, so he hurriedly steps closer to Azula and lowers his voice to a desperate whisper.

"Nekana, I told you that Mila and Yu-chen own a brothel in Bahasa! That's why we're here!"

His blush has spread to his ears. Which Azula can see clearly, since he's less than a foot away from her. Her lip curls as she realizes what a fool she's made of herself. How could she have not connected that brothel with this one? All this time on the run has blunted her edge.

"I would have known if you hadn't been so unnecessarily taciturn!" she spits, aware her face is blazing as red as the brothel's door. She hates it.

Temurin snorts derisively and looks like he's about to say something cutting. But then he stops himself, scanning Azula's flushed and angry face. His gaze softens.

"I'm sorry, Nekana," he says quietly. "I'm sorry I made you think…it's my fault." They stand there for a moment. For once Azula is not quite sure what to say. Temurin shivers as a light breeze blows dying leaves down the empty street.

"So we're meeting Mila and Yu-chen, your brothel-owning, yapian-buying, and Earth Kingdom-fraternizing friends," she says finally.

"Yes, into the mouth of the dragon we go," Temurin nods.

"I _am_ the dragon."

The door swings open mere seconds after Temurin knocks.

"Mila!" he says. Pushing aside his dark suspicion that Azula is right, that Mila is responsible for the bandit attack on New Azulon, he smiles. The older woman chuckles with a voice deep and gritty.

"So you finally made it to Bahasa," she says. She looks no different than she did when they met and nearly battled on the road: thin and wiry, tan skin even darker than his, grey hair pulled up into her looped Water Tribe bun. Mila pulls Temurin forcibly into a hug, slapping his back hard.

"Mila!" Nekana smiles brightly—too brightly- and bows. "It's good to see you again under better circumstances. I'm so sorry for my hastiness last week."

Mila narrows her eyes. "No offense taken. You _are _very young," she says in a gravelly voice.

Following Mila, Temurin steps into the Red House for the first time in more than six months. His eyes struggle to adjust to the dark interior. The inside is just as red as the exterior, but the color feels less violent when it appears on lush fabrics and wall tapestries. Passing a few women playing cards in a side room, Temurin follows Mila to the back. Nekana crosses her arms uncomfortably. Temurin's stomach twists in guilt. Maybe he shouldn't have brought her here. She may be an unbelievably deadly fighter, but she's still barely an adult. If she is even an adult. With another unpleasant twist Temurin realizes he has never asked how old she is.

"Anything happen since I saw you last?" Temurin asks Mila.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Mila waves one hand dismissively.

"Thanks to Mila, the Red House is the safest establishment in Bahasa," Temurin calls over his shoulder. Nekana nods. She's examining a red-framed painting of an Earth Kingdom consort. Perhaps it's merely his overactive imagination, but Temurin swears the woman in the painting looks like Crooked Zhao.

"And thanks to Temurin, we are also the cleanest brothel in Bahasa!" Mila adds.

"Wonderful," Nekana says stiffly. Temurin winces. Yes, he really should have warned her beforehand.

"Yu-chen," Mila calls as they enter a back office. "You'll never guess who showed up at our door."

"Not the independence protestors again, I hope," sighs the woman writing behind the desk. She wears a shocking pink and red dress. Her light brown hair is pulled back into an elegant knot and fastened with a ruby-and-gold phoenix pin. When she sees Temurin and Nekana her face lights up.

"Finally! Mila told me of your…misunderstanding on the road, and I've been eager to make it right."

"So have I," Nekana subtly elbows Temurin aside, her voice so cheerful that for a second Temurin doesn't realize who spoke.

"It is in the past," says Mila. She stands behind Yu-chen, one hand resting supportively on the other woman's shoulder.

"Tea?" Yu-chen asks.

"We're fine," Temurin says.

"I'll have some," Nekana speaks up charmingly.

"Don't speak for her, Temurin," Yu-chen chides. "Have we taught you nothing?"

Nekana laughs. She leans in her chair like it's her own personal throne, legs crossed casually. Temurin doesn't know what her game is here, but clearly she delights in his discomfort.

"Temurin is always trying to be in charge," Nekana tells Yu-chen, voice lowered like the two are already confidants.

"Aren't they all," says Mila dryly. The three women share a private smile. After a few seconds stretch by Temurin shifts in his seat.

"Ah—sorry, Nekana."

"I won't hold it against you," Nekana says sweetly. Temurin rolls his eyes. In less than five minutes, Nekana's charm offensive has succeeded.

"If you'll forgive my brusqueness, I'd like to shift to business," Temurin says.

"Good," says Yu-chen. She taps her calligraphy brush against the table. "When will you come for check-ups?

"Tomorrow. But I also have something that might interest Mila," Temurin says significantly.

At that moment, a woman walks in with a cup of tea for Nekana. It smells like jasmine, and Temurin wishes he had accepted the offer of tea the first time. But it's definitely too late now. After she leaves, Temurin picks back up.

"I've come into possession of a _very _large amount of yapian," he says, leaning forward. "More than a hundred kilos."

"I thought as much," Mila says seriously. "You're selling, I assume?"

"At 500 kuai a kilo," Temurin replies. "450 for you two."

"Bring it tomorrow and we'll haggle properly," Mila reassures him.

"Well, well, Temurin," Yu-chen, her perfect eyebrows lifting. "You've turned your little side business into quite an endeavor. I'm sure you know our mutual friend does not play games. Sure you're not in over your head?"

"That's why he has me," Nekana says unexpectedly. "To handle things when he gets out of his depth."

Yu-chen and Mila share another significant glance. "There's a story here," Yu-chen says speculatively.

"But unfortunately, not one we can tell now," Temurin says hastily. "I need to get back to my apprentice. Set things up for my visit tomorrow." As he stands to depart, he hears a faint shout followed by more and more voices.

"That will be the protestors," Yu-chen sighs. "I don't know why they have to assemble here every morning. It disturbs the women's rest terribly."

"Be careful out there," Mila warns. "It's only a matter of time before the protests turn into riots." Temurin's stomach slowly turns heavy. From Mila's tone, it sounds more like a promise than a warning.

"He'll be safe with me," Nekana is saying.

"I believe it," says Yu-chen seriously. She rises and bows. "It's good to have you back, Temurin. And we very much look forward to working with you, Nekana."

"Likewise," smiles Nekana. She places her hand on companionably on Yu-chen's arm. "I hope to be back soon."

Nekana's eyes are kind, not glittering like she's plotting someone's downfall. She almost looks…happy. It's a good look on her.

Unfortunately, Temurin knows Nekana well enough to know that her warmth and friendliness is probably a lie.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

When Azula emerges from the closeted darkness of the Red House she is mildly surprised to find it is already noon. The sun shines palely overhead, peeking out between the jagged city rooftops and sparse woolly clouds high above. It's a grey day, cold. Sleet flecks the shoulders of Azula's Earth Kingdom jacket. Temurin shivers; it seems he stupidly forgot to bring a coat.

"They're lying, Temurin," Azula says. She unwinds her scarf and throws it in the older man's face. He barely catches it, blinking in shock.

"About what?"

"Everything."

"I don't doubt it, but you'll have to be—" he stops, one hand still holding the tail of her scarf. "Do you hear that?"

The shouts which had permeated through the thick quiet of the Red House grow steadily louder, building from an indistinct roar until Azula can pick out individual words.

"Fire Nation go home?" Azula smirks. "How unoriginal."

"I can't quite tell where—" Temurin starts.

The crowd bursts around a corner, spilling like cockroaches onto the boulevard. Their faces are flushed with cold and they brandish banners like swords. At the front of the protestors marches a woman wearing makeshift Kyoshi Warrior armor, though Azula does't recognize her. A man carrying a toddler on his shoulders waves the Earth Kingdom flag and the woman to his right raises a mittened fist.

"Down with the Fire Nation!" she yells. The protestor is close enough that Azula can see her eyes are the light brown of a Fire Nation citizen. It reminds her of the citizens who came out to protect Zuko from the coup, all those weeks ago… Temurin grabs Azula's elbow and pulls her to the side of the road.

"You should try to keep a low profile," Temurin says, still gripping her arm.

Azula narrows her eyes. What does he mean by that? Stubbornly, she climbs onto a nearby crate for a better view of the pulsing crowd. It's fascinating, really. If she were Firelord, she'd see these people as the enemy, but here in the thick of it all the mob's energy is contagious, like the thrill of a battlefield. A brightly painted banner with Zuko's face on it draws her attention as it sweeps by, the woman holding it looking barely older than Azula herself. And next to her is—

"Altan?" Azula says, disbelieving.

"What?" says Temurin.

"Altan is in the crowd," Azula half-shouts down to Temurin. He clambers up onto the crate with her, nearly knocking her off.

"Sorry—but what the hell?" Temurin spits. "He's supposed to be with Jirou at the inn. _Altan_!"

Temurin cups his hands around his mouth and yells out over the raging mass. So much for keeping a low profile. Unbelievably, Altan's head turns, and he sees Azula and Temurin holding each other awkwardly as they balance on top of the wooden crate. Altan's face falls, but he struggles through the crowd to reach them.

Before Altan even gets there, Temurin jumps down. "What are you—"

"Jirou ran off," Altan says hurriedly. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink from the cold. "He kept asking to go see the protests, and I said no, and then I went to go buy lunch—"

"_Spirits, _Altan, how hard is it to watch one child?" Temurin snaps.

Altan turns an even deeper pink, but he stands his ground. "Jirou is hardly a child," he retorts. "And I don't notice _you _watching him every second."

Temurin looks livid, and Azula waits for the verbal flaying Temurin is about to unleash on the younger man. Altan must see it coming, too, because he lifts his chin in the largest act of defiance Azula has ever seen from him. Despite herself, Azula can't help being impressed by Altan's resolve. Although a full-on confrontation between her two friends would be interesting.

"Let's just focus on finding my nephew," Temurin says tightly. The last stragglers in the protestor's mob pass by, and the street quiets down. Azula sighs.

"That's what I was doing," Altan says, looking relieved. "This crowd is joining a larger rally outside the mayor's office."

Wordlessly, Temurin sets off down the street to catch up with the protestors. Altan glances up at Azula, who's been watching from the crate. He wilts.

"I'm sorry," he says miserably. "I should have watched Jirou more carefully."

"Probably," Azula agrees. Altan slumps even further, and a sudden image of Zuko flashes through her mind: her brother standing dejected after Ozai watched one of their history lessons. His shoulders had bent just the same way…

Before she can overthink it, Azula hops off the crate and wraps Altan in a hug. His icy cheek makes her shiver as it brushes against hers. He must have been out looking for Jirou for a while. Temurin is getting farther and farther away, but Azula finds herself relaxing into Altan's body as he returns her embrace. One of his cold hands moves to stroke the back of her head, causing a new round of goosebumps on her neck. She doesn't move.

"We should catch up with Temurin," Altan murmurs against her hair. Another long moment stretches before he squeezes her briefly and pulls away. "Let's go," he says. And before Azula can reply, he darts in and kisses her cheek. His lips are chapped.

Kissed again by a colonial peasant. Azula laughs as she thinks of what Ozai would say.

By the time Altan and Nekana finally catch up, they have to shove their way through the crowd to reach Temurin. Nekana is particularly savage with her elbows, digging them ruthlessly into people unfortunate enough to be in their way. "Sorry," Altan says again and again as he follows in Nekana's wake. To their right, the protestors have erected a makeshift platform in front of the mayor's office. A woman in a brown coat stands on top of it.

"For our children, and for our children's children, we _must _rejoin the Earth Kingdom!" she yells. The crowd roars, and Nekana practically bodyslams someone aside to reach Temurin.

"Because the Firelord is unable to keep us safe, even if he wanted to—"

"Did you find him?" the doctor asks her, panicked.

"No," Nekana says. "We need to get somewhere higher."

"—next speaker is someone who can attest to the decline in _law and order_—"

Altan scans the surroundings for any way to get above the crowd—maybe they could climb to a second-story balcony? He and Temurin probably aren't capable, but surely Nekana could make it, maybe spot the boy in the crowd. Assuming he's even here, and hasn't been kidnapped by spirits know who.

"My village was burned to the ground by bandits!" says a high voice. "And the Fire Nation, which pretends to stick around to protect us, didn't do a thing!"

"No," says Temurin in horror. The crowd cheers.

Altan turns, and sees Jirou standing on the platform, looking nervous but invigorated. Words tumble out of him as he describes the bodies, and the burning, and the terror of New Azulon, his voice growing louder the vehement reactions of the crowd egg him on. He raises a fist in the air. "For the Earth King!" he screams.

Temurin starts to fight his way to the front of the crowd, but Nekana tugs him back.

"Think. You can't just drag him off the stage," she says.

"Watch me," Temurin says, shaking her off. But the press of the mob is such that even though Temurin struggles desperately, he's practically trapped where he is. They are helpless as Jirou continues to rail against the Fire Nation. Altan winces as he hears the boy repeat something about the Fire Nation's crimes that he himself once carelessly said. The minutes drag on endlessly, the crush of bodies making it harder and harder to breathe.

"Thank you to our youngest supporter," says the woman in brown. "It's people like him who will ensure—"

A whistle splits the air, followed by screams towards the edge of the crowd as a small squadron of Colonial peacekeepers shoulder their way towards the platform. They are wearing Fire Nation armor, and even though they aren't bending, Altan watches, frozen, as they swing their clubs ruthlessly. A woman goes down, scarlet blood across her face. The claustrophobic press of the crowd turns into a stampede as people flee the scene.

"Jirou!" Temurin screams, once again trying to get to the front of the stage. Altan and Nekana try to follow behind him, but a large woman in a thick scarf bowls Altan over. He hits the pavement. Someone steps on his hand, and he screams as he feels at least one of his fingers break. Boots and long coats swirl around him, and when he tries to stand he's knocked back to the ground, his only defense to curl into a ball as hundreds of people trip and fight to escape the police. By the time he finally struggles to his feet, the squad is sweeping off the stage, dragging the main speaker and Jirou away.

"Jirou!" Temurin yells pointlessly. He tries to climb up on the stage, but Nekana yanks him back again.

"You can't fight them all," she shouts. The soldiers enter the city hall, slamming the heavy door shut behind them. Altan staggers towards the pair as Temurin continues to struggle to escape Nekana. She steps in front of the older man, shaking him slightly.

"Do you want me to break him out?" she asks. But there's another question in her eyes, and Altan remembers the blackened bodies of bandits in New Azulon. He cradles broken hand as Temurin looks at the city hall doors and then back at the young woman.

"I—" Temurin shakes his head. "Damn it!"

"You should try to talk to the officials," Altan interjects. "Before Nekana…does anything drastic."

"He's just a child," Temurin agrees desperately. "Surely they'll listen-"

"Forget the officials. You need to go get Mila and Yu-chen to help." She shakes the doctor again. "Temurin, do you hear me? We need to go back to the Red House."

The street is littered with groaning protestors, some taken out by the peacekeepers, some victims of the stampede. Banners lay limply on the cobbled street, slowly getting soaked with rain.

"No one can stay neutral when the Fire Nation rules," Altan says dully.

Nekana frowns. But she doesn't disagree.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Temurin sits before Mila and Yu-chen like a man awaiting his own execution. He doesn't remember how he got back to the Red House. Nekana must have led him there. He keeps remembering how Jirou ran down the dusty street towards him in New Azulon: free. Not terrified and pale as he was when the Fire Nation soldiers dragged him away. Jirou is alone now, just like Temurin's daughter is alone with only her grandmother to care for her…why did Aliya trust Temurin with her son, her oldest son? Temurin looks around for Nekana, but she isn't there. She waits just outside with Altan.

"Please," Temurin says again. "I know you can help him."

Yu-chen and Mila exchange a glance.

"We can," Mila says. "But if you could just wait three days—"

"_Spirits_, Mila, who knows what the Fire Nation can do to a child in three days!" Temurin says angrily.

"We can use this," Yu-chen says to Mila. "Accelerate the timeline. Let everyone know that the Fire Nation has taken an innocent child prisoner."

Temurin clenches his fists in his lap. He doesn't care what timeline they're talking about. As long as they agree to get Jirou out.

"That could work," Mila nods. "Send out the messengers to General Xia. We rescue the boy tonight. The others can arrive by tomorrow."

"Thank you," Temurin exhales, relief mixed with foreboding.

"You owe Crooked Zhao even more now, Temurin," Yu-chen says sharply. "And Crooked Zhao always gets a return on her debt."

Once again, Azula finds herself plotting against the Fire Nation.

_This time is different_, she reminds herself sternly. She isn't trying to undermine Zuko, she's just trying to free a child. Yet it's obvious that Yu-chen and Mila are plotting something more…

When Temurin and Mila emerge from Yu-chen's office, they both look grim. Azula ceases her pacing immediately.

"We are going to fetch the boy," Mila says. Her hand rests on the pommel of her sword.

"I'll come," Azula volunteers immediately.

"I don't think so," Mila growls. "You're Fire Nation." Her blue eyes are as steely and contemptuous as Zuko's waterbender friend. Sages, Azula hates waterbenders, with their smug smiles and their hair braids and their—

"You should stay here," Temurin agrees.

"Fine," Azula sneers. "If I'm not wanted, why risk my life?"

"It's not that—" Temurin starts.

"Do you want to save your nephew or not?" Mila shrugs on a sealskin coat with blue stitching; sewn inside the fur lining of her coat are an assortment of knives that would make Mai's mouth water. Clearly they aren't on a peace mission.

"You and Altan should wait here for me," Temurin mutters as he leaves.

Azula ignores him. If Temurin doesn't trust her, why bother to reply?

She watches from the second-floor window as Mila, Temurin, and a two dangerous-looking women with long knives leave the brothel. Temurin still wears her red scarf, the scarf she brought all the way from the Fire Nation palace. Another fall wind sweeps down from where it hovered above the cliffs. The chill sweeps between the towers of rock like an air and funnels through the boulevard. The red silk curtains billow inward.

As soon as Mila and Temurin disappear from sight, Azula climbs up and stands in the window frame, surrounded by twisting pennants of red. She pulls her hair from her ponytail and lets the wind sweep through her hair. Air may be the weakest element, but it's also the wildest.

It takes only seconds for Azula to swing down to the street. And only a few minutes before she reaches the inn where they are keeping the ostrich-horse, the wagon, and the crates of yapian.

Azula's wagon clatters across the cobblestones of a completely deserted street. And no wonder. The wind picks up, and she can hear the barest hint of a whisper. She ignores the voice just like she ignored Temurin.

The clouds are as dark as twilight. Sleet still flecks the coat of her Earth Kingdom jacket. Azula thinks of her time in a Fire Nation jail. She wonders if Jirou is afraid. Azula was never afraid, of course, even when she was locked up in the insane asylum for years. You have to be sane to be afraid. Yet even though Azula hasn't decided if she's sane or not, Azula feels a sweep of icy fear as she sits on a hard wagon bench outside the Red House. It is so cold in the Colonies, colder than the islands of her home. The sun cannot break through the clouds. A child is captured. Temurin does not trust her. There is a plot hatching beneath the scarlet phoenix-carved eaves of the Red House. And she will never be home again.

"Take these crates inside," Azula orders two sturdy-looking women standing guard outside the Red House. "It's a shipment for Yu-chen."

The women obey Azula's tone of command, hauling thousands of kuai worth of yapian into the Red House. A small boy stands below the windows with a long, curved lamplighter. He strains on his tiptoes to reach the nearest scarlet lantern, but trips and nearly catches the shutter on fire. Azula watches him speculatively.

"Have you ever met a firebender, boy?" she asks.

He shakes his head.

"Then close your eyes. And don't peek."

Azula breathes in deeply, judging the distance to each of the lanterns. Then, not quite as fast as her lightning, she sends out ten short bursts of orange fire. The lantern wicks catch. The street glows with as red as fire-embers.

"Okay. Now you can look."

"Wow," the boy's eyes are wide. His pale skin reflects the red lantern glow. "You're like magic!"

"Yes," Azula agrees. But her eyes alight on a now-illuminated second-story room. It's Yu-chen's study. And it's empty.

She owes Temurin nothing.

Altan does not appreciate being deserted by his friends in a strange brothel. After he searches the Red House for half an hour and finds neither Nekana or Temurin, Altan resigns himself to abandonment. After he wanders into the kitchen and exchanges a few pleasantries with the cook, he finds himself seated at a sturdy wooden table peeling potatoes. It seems like the safest place.

Hide and wait it out. That's always been Altan's tactic. He cuts an eye out of a potato and throws the skin on the floor. Jirou has more guts than any of them. The way he just went up on that platform and spoke his mind. It was monumentally stupid. But still…

"Are you looking for your friend?" A young man dressed in a long white nightshirt enters the kitchen.

"What?" Altan asks stupidly, a half-peeled potato in his hand. The newcomer picks up a raw, peeled potato from the bowl on the table. He crunches down like it's an apple.

"Your friend. The firebender with the golden eyes. She just headed upstairs."

"You're eating a raw potato," Altan tells him.

"You're peeling potatoes and you don't even work here," the man retorts. "So which of us is the idiot?"

Cheeks burning, Altan heads upstairs.

The red lanterns inside and outside are lit. Women laugh from behind closed doors as Altan hurries through the second-floor hallway. Only one door is cracked open. Carefully, Altan peers inside. He sighs with mixed relief and irritation when he recognizes Nekana.

"Where did you go? I was looking for you!" he snaps.

Nekana glances up and smoothly shuts Yu-chen's desk drawer.

"I've been looking for Yu-chen," Nekana says. She tucks a piece of paper behind her belt.

"For the past hour?"

"Let's have a drink," Nekana smiles.

"I don't want—"

"Look, Altan. Aren't the red lanterns beautiful?" Nekana says. She takes his hand and drags him to the window so he can see the intricate painted dragons and fire-lilies painted on the red paper.

"They are," he says begrudgingly.

Nekana beams at him. Her golden eyes glitter in the firelight.

"Have a drink with me," she says again.

And this time, Altan can't bring himself to refuse.

Temurin feels like crying in relief when he, Jirou, and Mila finally reach the inn. It had cost them, but he got his nephew back. Jirou is safe.

"I'm sorry," the boy says again dully. He's draped in a blanket, having lost his own coat, and looks thoroughly wet and miserable.

"We'll talk about it later," Temurin promises. Now is not the time to chastise Jirou, although once Jirou is rested _by the spirits _does he have something to say to the boy. Running away? Joining a political rally? Temurin closes his eyes. Everything could have gone so much worse.

Temurin expected Nekana to be waiting for him, but she's nowhere to be found as he leads Jirou to the bedroom.

"Change into something warm," Temurin tells his nephew. "I'll go get some ginger from the wagon for tea." Jirou nods weakly.

Temurin looks out of the bedroom window into the courtyard and blinks a few times before he can process the sight. His wagon isn't there. The whole courtyard is in view and his wagon…isn't there. Ice floods his body as quickly as if he'd jumped into a mountain lake at winter.

"I'll be back," he finds himself saying to Jirou before floating out the door. Where is Nekana? Where is his wagon? And where are his hundreds of grams of yapian? Ice is replaced by a throbbing heat at his temples. Betrayal. Betrayal again. Still, he struggles not to jump to conclusions. After everything they've survived together, Nekana wouldn't steal his yapian at a time like this. Probably. Or maybe she would.

"Is everything all right?" Mila asks.

"Can you stay with Jirou?" Temurin asks, fighting for control. "I need to check on something at the Red House."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 **

_Hello all! It's good to be back. Since I haven't posted in a while…here are five chapters!_

_**Disclaimer:**__ This chapter and the rest of this fanfiction portray drug and alcohol use. If this will disturb you, do not read further._

* * *

By the time Temurin finally finds them, his coat is soaked through with sleet and not even the lively chatter of the Red House bar can permeate his dark cloud. The lighting inside is a soft orange-red, and at first Temurin doesn't see them.

And then he does. Curled up together in a single armchair, Kana and Altan are surrounded by empty glasses of what looks to be rice wine. Her hair is down and her entire face is flushed red, either from the light or from the alcohol. Somehow it just makes her look more potent and fiery than ever. As Temurin approaches, Altan laughs, and tilts his head back to kiss her. She sinks into him in a way that would be indecent in any other setting.

Storming past all the other drunken patrons, Temurin stops before the couple. They don't notice.

"Nekana. Where is my wagon?" Temurin demands.

Slowly, as if emerging from underwater, Nekana pulls away. Of the two of them, she appears more conscious, but also more shameless. When Altan sees Temurin, he laughs hopelessly before grabbing a pillow and hiding his face. Nekana nonchalantly stares at Temurin with half-lidded golden eyes. He simmers with impatience.

"My wagon. Nekana, what did you do with it?"

"Relax, Temurin, have a drink," Nekana says, each word clearly and deliberately enunciated. "There's one…somewhere."

Temurin crouches down and grabs both of her upper arms, shaking her slightly. "Where. Is. It."

"Hands off, peasant," Nekana drawls, voice somehow still dangerous. "I concluded our business. Here." She reaches for her foot and finds that she's barefoot. "Oh," she says, confused for the first time. But then she leans over, plucks her Fire Nation boot off the floor, and fishes out a bag of money.

"Here," she says, throwing it at Temurin just like she threw the scarf this morning. He catches it. Assuming it's gold, it appears to be roughly the right weight to pay for his remaining stash of yapian.

"You should be thanking me," Nekana says, leaning back into the armchair. She takes another drink of foul-smelling liquor. "I did your job for you."

Still underneath the pillow, Altan giggles. "Your job! But she's not a doctor!"

"You should have waited for me," Temurin spits. "You can't just...I thought—"

"You thought what?" says Nekana, sitting back up and looking ready for a fight. "What did you think, Temurin?" She reeks of rice wine.

"So while I was out there trying to save my nephew, you and Altan decided to take my possessions, sell them, and get drunk on the profits," Temurin hisses. "And you think I should thank you? Do care about what happened to Jirou at all? Do you have any sense of what is…is…" He sputters. "Appropriate?"

"What are you really angry about, Temurin?" Nekana whispers. She rests her elbows on her knees so her face is level with Temurin's, just a few inches away. "What's really...agitating you?" She runs a teasing finger down his cheek and jawline. Temurin jerks back like he's been scalded.

"You're drunk," he says, pushing her hand away. "Both of you are."

"But isn't the haze magnificent?" Nekana says dreamily. "I don't know why I didn't try this ages ago…all the voices are gone…"

Temurin's face is still burning from her touch, and maybe it's that that causes him to lash out even though she's just a drunk little girl.

"You're insane, Nekana," he says, standing. "You're mad. And I don't know why you're fleeing the Fire Nation, but I bet it's because no one wants you there. Because you pull completely _unfeeling, inappropriate _bullshit like this."

Her eyes flare, and she tries and fails to stand. "You have your money," she shouts from the couch. "Now leave us alone."

Temurin nearly bowls someone over as he flees the hot, overcrowded red room, the sack of gold clutched in his hand. _Damn her._

Temurin's dark coat blurs out of view and Azula tosses her glass aside. It shatters noisily on the floor, but Altan barely stirs. When she pushes the pillow off his face she finds he's sound asleep, mouth open and snoring like a baby. Such a pretty baby. Azula slides to the floor and then uses the back of the couch to pull herself to her feet. This sensation is new and completely wonderful. She's completely free from herself, she can do anything, be anyone, free for once from the voices in her head! This is the new start she was looking for the whole time.

Smoke curls around the corners of her vision as she staggers away from Altan, drawn by a sweet smell.

"You all right?" someone asks her. But she merely fixes them with her quelling gaze and they step aside. Peasants, all of them. She wonders if Zuko has ever been drunk. Or Mai. Why didn't they drink together?

A doorway outside the bar and across the hall is floating in a magical, flowery mist. She heads towards it, and when she pushes aside the cloth flap at the entrance, she coughs on the smoke. People are lying on the ground, strange pipes in their hands, and before she knows it she's joined them and is breathing in the sweet, undiluted scent of peace and an unclouded conscience.

But even as her mind soars away, she can't forget Temurin's face as he yanked himself back, or the line of his shoulders as he swam away…

Zhao Zhilong was twelve when she broke her nose and earned the moniker "Crooked Zhao." Over the years various stories sprang up around how she broke it. Some said her nose snapped while scuffling with a childhood friend, others said it was crushed by the butt of a Fire Nation spear, while others said, no, she broke it trying to tame a wild boar-squirrel. Zhao merely smiles pleasantly when she hears these rumors. The truth is she broke her nose because she was a coward. Because when the Fire Nation attacked her Earth Kingdom town she didn't stand and fight alongside her father, the village headsman. She ran away.

Blinded by tears of shame and terror, Zhao's foot had suddenly tangled with something sharp yet brittle. She fell to the dirt. Her nose crunched. When she flipped to her back, nose streaming with blood, she realized her foot was caught in the ribcage of a charred, blackened corpse. She ran.

In her neat study in Taiyang, Crooked Zhao idly runs her finger over the sharp curve of her twisted nose. It's become a habit of hers in the four decades since she earned her name. A knock on the door startles her out of her reverie.

"Come in." It's about time. Zhao straightens and adjusts the gold filigree netting pinned to her grey bun.

One of her aides enters. "This week's financial and political report," the girl says, laying a scroll on her desk. "And detailed news on the riots in Bahasa, as you requested." The aide presents a news bulletin with a handwritten note attached.

"Thank you, Lihua," Zhao says. The girl bows deeply in traditional Earth Kingdom style, as Zhao insists all her employees do, and exits the room. The door slides shut with a snap.

Zhao rolls out the scroll eagerly and smooths out the fine paper from top to bottom with an obsidian weight. Even in her haste, she is careful not to wrinkle the paper or damage the message. Zhao reads every ink character carefully. Profits are up in Yu Dao, of course; Fire Nation and former colonials alike turn to yapian when rocked by the uncertainty of Yu Dao's new independence. Taiyang, New Azulon, Bahasa…yapian is selling like never before. Even as the Firelord use the guise of independence to tightens his grip on the Colonies, more and more people slip through his fingers and fall in Zhao's outstretched hands. Yapian is both gold and power.

The candlelight flickers and Zhao opens the news clipping on Bahasa. The populace is finally rising up against the Fire Nation Mayor in favor of the true King in Ba Sing Se. Predictably, the bulletin makes no mention of the three lives extinguished when the Colonial peacekeepers broke up the peaceful protest. Zhao scowls. Classic Fire Nation revisionism.

Finally, Zhao turns to what she's saved for last. Mila is sure to have an update on their Earth Kingdom allies. After the disaster at New Azulon, Zhao feared that her alliance with General Xia would go up in smoke. She winces as she thinks of the lives wasted there, and of the poor planning that, according to Temurin's last letter, almost resulted in her allies killing the doctor. But instead of dissolving their partnership, the Earth Kingdom general doubled down; despite their mysterious losses in New Azulon, the incident did succeed in making the Fire Nation look weak. Zhao holds Mila's report from Bahasa close to the candle. She is so accustomed to their code she translates as she reads.

_The rest of Xia's troops have successfully crossed the Broken Plains. By the time this hawk arrives, Bahasa may already be ours._

_ Temurin arrived with your shipment of yapian and his firebending bodyguard I encountered on the road. His nephew, Jirou, was captured by the Colonial government, but a few pounds of yapian smoothed the way to his freedom. The boy is passionate for our cause. He could be of great use to us once Bahasa is won. I will write when the Earth Kingdom flag hangs once more on the outer wall of the city._

_ In the name of the King,_

_ M _

Zhao looks at the pre-war map framed on the wall. On the hundred-year-old paper, the entire continent of the Earth Kingdom is tinged with faded green ink. In the Fire Nation Palace and in the classrooms of young children, Zhao knows that Fire Nation maps stain the entire Western Shore of the Earth Kingdom a bloody, proprietary red. Tonight in this Colonial city someone makes a new map. A pair of hands smooth out a new sheet of rice paper and carefully trace the shape of the continent; they dip a wide brush into grey ink and paint the former Colonies grey instead of red or their rightful green. Grey. A dull color for independence. But appropriate for a puppet state.

Zhao will do whatever she can to ensure that new map is never hung. She will do anything to make these sacred lands return to green.

Azula awakens in a verdant meadow. She lays on soft dirt, surrounded by impossibly large and vibrant flowers whose stalks brush her face as they sway in the breeze. A pale purple sky soars above her, teeming with strange creatures that wind their way in and out of the filmy clouds. For a second Azula thinks she sees a dragon but the serpentine figure quickly pops of existence. Where is she?

Azula stands quickly. Her Fire Nation armor clinks familiarly. For the first time Azula realizes than her armor is much heavier than her new Colonial attire. Here in this garden paradise the metal feels like overkill. But then again the peaceful places are the most dangerous. This is not the Fire Nation. The petals all around her shiver as another breeze ripples through the flowery meadow. She recognizes bright red fire lilies, orange-and-white dragonflowers, and clustered to her right—

"Panda lilies," says a young voice. "They only grow along the rim of volcanoes."

Azula turns slowly, ready to attack. But it's only Zuko, a young Zuko like the one she met on the road in New Azulon. Once again his face is unscarred and smooth. He wears the tunic of a Fire Nation Prince with the knife Iroh gave him at his waist.

"Where am I?" Azula demands. "Why are you back?"

"Welcome to the Spirit World, Azula," the boy smiles. "It's good to see you again."

The Spirit World. Azula knows she should be afraid—she knows when she's out of her league—but all she can feel is relief. Either the Spirit World is real or she's descended into new elaborate depths of insanity. Azula examines a panda-lily carefully. It's perfect, down to the stripes and the orange dots of pollen in the center. This world is too detailed, too vivid for it to be a hallucination; she feels none of the panic that usually accompanies her visions of her parents. The Spirit World is real. Which means Azula isn't completely crazy.

"Are you really Zuko?" Azula asks the spirit suspiciously. "I've never heard of encountering someone's spirit while that person is still alive." A horrible thought strikes her. "Zuko is alive, isn't he?"

The boy laughs. "Perceptive as always, Azula. Yes, Zuko is alive in the physical realm. But I'm also Zuko."

"That doesn't make any sense," Azula scowls.

"I'm here because I need to tell you something," the spirit says, ignoring her. "Azula, before we were born the Fire Sages prophesied that combining Avatar Roku's bloodline with Sozin's line would result in the birth of a powerful firebender. One who would ensure the Imperial Family's rule for generations. And you—"

"Stop," Azula cuts Zuko off. What is this? Are the spirits themselves trying to tempt her back to the Fire Nation? Turn her against Zuko? Because it's obvious that the 'powerful firebender' is herself. The Spirit World is full of tricksters. This is probably a test.

"The powerful firebender. It's Zuko, isn't it? It's you." Before Azula says it she doesn't believe it, but once she hears the words aloud they seem to ring true in this beautiful empty place.

"Zuko fulfils the prophecy. He fought me. He defeated our father. And he's not only the Fire Lord, he's completely reshaping the world." She smiles and crosses her arms, certain she's beaten the spirit at his own game.

The boy Zuko looks surprised.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Azula," he finally says. "You've changed more than you realize."

"Was I right?"

"No," Zuko says. "The prophecy refers to both of us. The Fire Nation cannot survive unless we work together and heal the wounds our ancestors inflicted."

Azula's stomach turns. Images flash through her mind: the screaming as Fire Nation troops entered Ba Sing Se. The burnt bones of bandits in New Azulon scattered across the city street as if someone dropped a box of matches. Her own half-brother Akira dead with one strike of her lightning and Zuko's blank face as he stared at the body. No, Azula is no healer. Temurin is the healer. Fixing people requires steady hands and a sound mind and more kindness than she is capable of. This prophecy cannot be her destiny.

"Why won't you just let me go?" Azula says wearily. "Stop asking me to come back, Zuko! I've rejected my birthright. I'm trying to start a new life."

"Azula, you're my sister," Zuko says. "I will always ask you to come back." His child's face twists with an odd expression. "Have faith, Azula. You will not be forgotten in the Colonies forever. Your destiny and your redemption still await."

"My redemption," Azula sneers. A huge gust of wind blows through the meadow and reveals the white undersides of the petals. Her hair blows wildly in the steadily roaring wind.

"You know what's right, Azula!" says Zuko. "You may not always have known, but you know now." His form flickers like he's a candle flame quivering in the spirit wind.

"It's hard for me to stay here," he says. "We'll talk later."

"No!" Azula yells over the gale. "You still haven't told me anything useful!"

But before the spirit can answer he is swept away in a whirl of petals and air. Azula braces her feet, but the wind is too strong. Not even her armor can weigh her down. As she flies away, back to a world of armies and treachery and yapian, Azula thinks she sees Ty Lee tumbling through the meadow. But maybe it's her imagination.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"_Come away!" she says _

_With eyes of blue._

"_The Arctic waves are calling…"_

_Jinlian loved this song_, Temurin thinks as he sings, walking down the halls of the Red House. It's an old Water Tribe chanty, but Jinlian heard it from a merchant in Yu Dao and was captivated. She always wanted to visit the North Pole.

Temurin lowers his voice as he approaches Nekana's room. _"My boat is sound; the water's cold—" _ He's checked in on her between giving the residents checkups, but Nekana's only woken twice to throw up and hasn't said a word. She should be conscious by now; Altan was up hours ago.

Temurin taps on the door, and, when he doesn't hear a reply, he walks in.

"…_but I'll keep you safe from drowning," _he finishes softly.

Nekana stirs at the sound of his voice. She looks dreadful, and Temurin is reminded of the first day he met her, when she was poisoned by one of Crooked Zhao's cronies. As always, when her guard is down she looks so much younger.

"Kana?" Temurin says, sitting next to her bed. He touches her forehead lightly. No fever, but she's covered in sweat. Her golden eyes flicker open, but for once she doesn't tell him off for touching her.

"Water," she croaks.

Temurin grabs the full glass next to her bed and helps her drink.

"What happened last night?" he asks. "After I left. What did you do?"

"I don't remember," Nekana says. She sips her water. She's lying.

"You need to tell me," Temurin insists. Even though the memory of their interaction last night still leaves him flushed with anger, he's a doctor first. "Did you smoke any yapian?"

"I don't remember," she counters defensively. She pushes herself up so she's sitting straight. "And what is it to you, anyway?"

There are many things Temurin could say. _I'm your employer. _Or _you're young, and alone, and don't know half as much about the world as you think._

"You're my friend," Temurin says. "I care about you."

Nekana is quiet. She looks down at her cup of water like it's the most interesting thing in the world. One sharp fingernail traces a pattern on the scarlet bedspread.

"I'm sorry," she says, barely audible.

"Why?"

She meets his gaze. As always, her eyes are impossibly bright. "You know why."

Temurin bites his lip. He's never heard her apologize before. For anything.

"It's in the past," he says. Nekana's words seem to soothe the red burn he's felt for the past day. He wonders if things would have been different between himself and Jinlian if she had just said those two words.

Then he realizes something. "If you remember enough to apologize, then you can tell me—"

"There's something you need to know," Nekana says. She sits up gingerly and pulls a folded white letter from her pocket.

Altan's head throbs.

"So you're telling me that when I found you in Yu-chen's study, you already _knew _Mila and Yu-chen were planning to take over Bahasa, and you didn't tell me?" Altan asks.

"I was waiting until Temurin got back," Nekana says as she pulls on her boots. "We couldn't leave without him and Jirou anyway."

Of course she would wait to talk until Temurin got back. What could he, Altan, have to contribute?

"What's important is that we get out of here," Temurin says quickly, voice low. "We pick up Jirou and go."

"You work for Crooked Zhao," Altan points out. "Shouldn't you stay and help the takeover?"

Temurin looks at him as if he's completely insane. "Stay in a city that's about to be besieged? Or set ablaze when the Fire Nation comes to take it back? No, thank you. I'm taking Jirou and heading south to Qima. And you two should come with me."

"Ah yes, running. That's something I'm good at," Altan answers bitterly.

"If you want to stay, stay!" Temurin snaps. "You paid me for an escort to Bahasa, and we're here. No one is forcing you to accompany us."

Against his will, Altan glances at Nekana, but she's busy fastening her belt and doesn't seem to be following the conversation. When he turns back to Temurin, the older man's gaze is knowing.

"There's work for you in Qima if you want it," Temurin says kindly. "Let's go. Kana?"

"I'll meet you in Qima," Nekana says. She stands in front of an ornate mirror, styling her hair in a way she's never done before. Instead of a ponytail, she twists her hair into a Fire Nation topknot and ties it with a thin red ribbon. Two pieces of her hair hang down to frame her face.

"I have something I need to do for someone here, and I need to do it alone," Nekana declares, voice slightly distant.

"What?" Temurin spits. "Kana, don't be a fool! Come with us."

"I'll meet you in Qima," she says again. As if it's a reassurance.

"Will you?" Altan asks baldly.

"I—of course."

Altan may not be the best at reading people. But even he knows that Nekana is lying. There's something in her slender shoulders, in the angle of her set chin. Surely Temurin can see it too. Spirits, she isn't coming back. But there's nothing Altan can do or say to stop her, no real hold he has over her. Nekana really is like the fire she so easily summons: unpredictable, fierce, uncontrollable.

"Then please take care of yourself," Temurin says softly. "We will wait for you in Qima."

Nekana finishes tying her topknot and moves to kiss Altan goodbye. Fighting to control his anger and disappointment, he turns his chin away, and is slightly rewarded when real hurt blooms across her face.

"I _will _be back," she repeats unconvincingly as she hugs Temurin. The doctor squeezes her hand.

"Then go," he says.

It's only after she's climbed out the window that Altan realizes neither he nor Temurin offered to go with her.

The early evening air is crisp and expectant as Azula winds her way through the city. Her head is slowly clearing, though her stomach is tender. Without breaking her stride, she checks to make sure the package in her coat pocket is still there, but doesn't open it; yapian may help her access the Spirit World, but she's needed in this world now. A strong wind sweeps through the street and brings with it the faint smell of smoke. From the Earth Kingdom army that approaches? Azula picks up the pace, her Fire Nation boots tramping a heavy beat against the cobblestones. _Destiny, destiny. _There's not enough time for Zuko to send troops from the Fire Nation. But there's a garrison in Taiyang, and a few hours before the army arrives. She single-handedly instigated the fall of Ba Sing Se; surely she can ensure Bahasa lasts the night.

Half an hour later, Azula skids to a halt in front of the imposing brick edifice of the Mayor's office and home. Hands on her knees, she pants, wishing she still had one of those nimble mongoose-lizards that she, Mai, and Ty Lee used to chase the Avatar. Her breath clouds in front of her, and her lungs burn from inhaling the increasingly cold air. Painfully, she stands to assess the situation. Like so many buildings in Bahasa, the Mayor's office is built against the side of a rock pillar. The bottom half of the cliff tilts towards her, making it impossible for anyone to climb.

But Azula isn't anyone. She wraps her scarf tightly around her face, then lights two brilliant blue flames in her hands, pointing the fire downwards. _Fire lies in the belly_, Ozai had taught her. _Use your anger. _But instead, Azula finds herself thinking of her brother and of the two men she just left. Pale blue flames billow out of her hands. The fire scorches the cobblestone as Azula is propelled upwards, aiming for a narrow ledge in the rock that's level with one of the top windows in the building. She hits it hard, the rock digging into her stomach and knocking the wind out of her. Azula gasps for air. Torturously, she claws her way onto the ledge; when she's fully on top of it she flips to her back, trying hard to breathe. Stars float in front of her eyes, mixing with the real stars in the night sky. But there's no time for stars.

Azula braces herself, and then leaps across the narrow gap between the rock and the window. Screams split the air as she crashes through the glass feet-first and lands in a crouch. She's practically landed on a dinner table, around which are three terrified children and a couple. Food is strewn everywhere, mixed dangerously with glass from the window.

"Who is the mayor here?" Azula demands.

A skinny older man stands shakily amidst the broken glass. "I am," he says. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Azula unwinds the scarf from around her face, dropping it to the floor.

"I'm the Princess Azula. And you're about to do everything I say."

_The army is almost here. _Azula stands on top of Bahasa's city walls, earthbender-constructed walls that connect the outermost rock pillars of the city. For the first time in months, years even, she's wearing full Fire Nation armour, hair pulled up taut into a topknot. She finds she misses the feeling of her hair flowing loose around her face. And the plated metal is so much heavier than she remembers.

"Your Highness," Mayor Ginjiro says from behind her. "We sent the letters to the Firelord and to the garrisons in Taiyang and Yudao as you ordered. And we've rallied the police force. But there's no way we can stand against an army that size for long."

Azula strains her eyes in the dark, trying to see the army. Or a certain wagon fleeing the city.

"I've given orders that no one patrol this part of the wall," Ginjiro continues. "No one will know you are here."

"Good," Azula says. Now, how to proceed? She could go into combat herself, of course. But even she can't defeat an entire army. And the entire reason she's in hiding is so that Zuko doesn't have to deal with the political consequences of her continued existence. Maybe she could disguise herself as a messenger, and assassinate the general herself? But the idea leaves her strangely numb. Maybe it's still the yapian from last night, but stepping back into this role—being Princess Azula again—leaves her a little uneasy. And an assassination would undoubtedly start another war. All Zuko wants is peace.

"Our only chance is to delay them," Azula concludes. "Waste time negotiating until the Firelord's troops arrive." She turns to Ginjiro. "Send another messenger hawk addressed to the Earth Kingdom general in charge down there. Tell them you want to talk."

"Your Highness…wouldn't that be a job more suited for yourself?" Ginjiro's voice trembles.

Azula narrows her eyes. Ginjiro was one of her father's appointees, and clearly reached that position by bootlicking rather than by bravery or military service.

"As I've said before, my presence here is a secret," Azula says curtly. "You are the Mayor. You will negotiate. The army from Taiyang could be here by midday tomorrow if they are using their tanks." She paces the wall and grips the stone ledge. In the distance, she can now see the pinpricks of torches advancing on Bahasa. She hopes Temurin, Altan, and Jirou have made it out.

"Write down exactly what I say," Azula orders. "To the General: Your army is in direct violation of the agreement between the Firelord, the Earth King, and the leader of the new United Republic…"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Temurin's patient hisses in discomfort as Jirou dabs the thick green poultice onto an open sore.

"That _burns_," she complains. To his credit, Jirou doesn't look sheepish or uncertain like he did yesterday, when he visited patients with Temurin for the first time. Instead the boy keeps adding the ointment, slowly and carefully.

"Why does it burn, Jirou?" Temurin asks. He leans forward in his chair. Since arriving in Qima a week ago, they've been able to move all the supplies out of the wagon and set up shop in his old house. The house he shared with Jinlian.

"Uncle?"

"Hm?" Temurin shakes his head slightly, an empty aching in his throat.

"I said it burns because the poultice is eating away the infection," Jirou says. "So it's a good burn."

"That's absolutely right, Jirou," Temurin says hurriedly. "Well done." He turns to his patient, who still looks sceptical. "It will only burn for the first hour or so," Temurin explains. "After that, you should start feeling better and the swelling should go down."

"What if it doesn't?" the woman asks.

"Well, you know where I live," Temurin says with a too-hearty smile. "I'll be here for another week, at least."

For the next ten minutes, Temurin chats with his patient and helps Jirou firmly bandage her leg wound. His nephew really has a knack for it; as they continue to travel before winter truly hits, he's sure Jirou will learn even more. And in a few years, if he wants to, Jirou could go study medicine in Yu Dao, like Temurin did. Focusing on medicine, Temurin can almost push the memories of this house to the back of his mind. And the prickling smirks people still shoot him when he's out in public in Qima. And how his daughter looks at him distrustfully, and his worries about Nekana. Almost.

As his patient leaves, she almost bumps into Altan in the doorway.

"Sorry," Altan says, flushed. But he pushes past her and throws a gazette on the table in front of Temurin. In large black characters, the headline screams: _Bahasa Under Siege! Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom Armies Face Off for Second Day._

"Two days?" Temurin says. "But it's been over a week since we left!"

"I know," says Altan, frustrated. "The gazette's information is at least five days out of date. News travels slowly."

"'Less than 24 hours after the Earth Kingdom army appeared, a Fire Nation garrison from Taiyang rolled up in armored tanks which last saw action in the Hundred Year's War,'" Jirou reads. "'The two armies are now camped outside Bahasa's gates in a standoff that seems unlikely to end soon. With the vote on whether Bahasa will return to the Earth Kingdom or join the United Republic only a few days away, Bahasa's future is more uncertain than ever.'" Jirou looks up, frowning. "But if this is a few days old, anything could have happened! The city could be on fire, or the war could have restarted, or-"

"I _know,_" repeats Temurin.

"We shouldn't have left her," Altan says bitterly. He sinks into a chair at the table.

"We couldn't have stopped her." Temurin rubs his temples wearily as they replay the same argument that's been running in his head for the past week.

"But we could have tried harder!" Altan snaps. "Instead we ran away like cowards."

"What do you want me to say?" Temurin stands, shoving his chair noisily. "That I feel like dirt, too? That I worry about her every minute, just like you do?" He walks to the door and grabs his bag. "In case you've forgotten, I've known her longer than you have."

"I'm aware," Altan says, narrowing his eyes. Silence descends weighty and stifling. Jirou looks supremely uncomfortable and loudly stacks his textbooks one on top of the other.

Temurin sighs. "I'm sorry," he says. "That was…uncalled for." He slings the bag over his shoulder. "When I get back, we should discuss—well. Going back for her."

"Really?" Altan asks. He suddenly looks much younger. Hopeful.

"Where are you going?" Jirou speaks up as Temurin puts on his coat.

A whole new type of guilt and trepidation sweeps over Temurin. "I'm going to pick up my daughter from school."

Azula looks with distaste at the chopped-off finger in the box open in front of her.

_Well, that went poorly. _

"What happened?" she demands of Mayor Ginjiro.

"General Yuan's Earth Kingdom army grows tiring of our stalling, Your Highness!" the man whimpers. "She demands that we open our gates and allow her army to liberate the city!" Ginjiro glances at the finger and shudders. "Perhaps it's time you ordered the soldiers from Taiyang to attack. Preemptively."

"How many times do I have to explain this?" Azula snaps. "If we attack, we start a war, which the Firelord _does not want. _Imbecile!"

"Apologies, Your Highness." Ginjiro shrinks beneath her gaze, but it doesn't give her the pleasure it once would have.

"I'll be on the wall," Azula says, sweeping out of the room. If only she could negotiate directly, get General Yuan and the Fire Nation commander from Taiyang together in a room, she's sure she could hammer out a compromise and let the vote proceed fairly. But since she's unable to show her face, she's completely hamstrung. Her thighs burn as she ascends the stairs at a run. The siege has lasted a week, but aside from a few initial skirmishes there hasn't been any violence.

Azula bursts out into the chilly, bright afternoon sun. Striding to the edge of the wall, she surveys the scene: the Earth Kingdom army crouches less than a mile outside Bahasa's gates. And then, camped further out and separated from the city, stands the army from Taiyang. From here, the concentration of green and red army tents look like large patches of color on a quilt. Azula rolls her neck, trying to get out a stubborn knot. With a word, she could restart the war she and her father once fought so hard to win. She's fighting for peace because _Zuko _wants peace. But does she?

The clouds overhead are thick and white in the bright blue sky. If she restarted the war, she'd be fighting against people like Temurin and Altan. They could actually die. Funny how peasants dying never occurred to her before. Azula sighs, her breath a small puff, and stretches her neck upwards again to release the tension. Above her, a small cloud detaches itself from the main one, and quickly drifts to the left. It appears to swell as it travels, gradually getting larger. Azula squints at its odd behaviour. The wind is blowing to the right, not the left. And then her mouth drops open as she realizes what it is.

"The Avatar," she swears.

The cloud gets bigger and bigger until the form of the Avatar's sky-bison is clear. On top of the bison are two small figures, presumably the Avatar and that waterbender. Azula thinks quickly. She should have foreseen this; frankly, in retrospect it's surprising the Avatar took a week to get here. And now it's too late to run. So Azula braces herself for whatever is to come as the bison flies low over the city walls, circling Bahasa. With a _whoosh _of air, the bison flies straight up over her, almost close enough for her to touch. She stumbles back. As she does, she meets the large grey eyes of the Avatar. His eyes widen in recognition, and the bison makes a tight turn to land on the wall a short distance away from her. Her hair flies back in the sudden wind.

_I'm not doing anything wrong_, Azula reminds herself. Even so, her fists clench as the only people in the world capable of defeating her dismount from their bison.

"Avatar," she calls out. "Good of you to finally show up."

The Avatar leaps towards her in that eerie, half-flying way he always does. "What are you doing here, Azula?" he says accusatorily. He's wearing orange robes, one shoulder revealed, and looks thinner and taller than he was when she saw him two years ago. Behind him, the Water Tribe girl bends water out of her pouch, ready for a fight. Her face twists in disgust and dislike.

"I'm preventing Bahasa from falling to the Earth Kingdom," Azula says. "Doing your job, in other words."

"That's hardly what it looks like," says Water Tribe. She gestures at Azula's Fire Nation armour. "What's your game? Did you summon troops from Taiyang and Yu Dao just so you could make Bahasa your own personal kingdom?"

"_What?" _Azula sneers. "Water Tribe, why don't you let the civilized people talk? I know that forming coherent sentences is hard for Southern natives." She smirks as Water Tribe bristles with fury. "Avatar, what is she blabbering about?"

The Avatar holds his hands up placatingly. "Listen, Azula, we heard there was a siege, so we came to investigate. We just didn't expect to find you…running things." He pauses. "So what _are _you doing here?"

"I don't answer to you," Azula says. "It's a family matter."

"Um...clearly it's not?" the Avatar says, anger leaching into his voice for the first time. He points his staff sharply at the lines of opposing armies spread across the horizon. "Azula, if you don't explain yourself _right now _I'm going to be forced to-"

"Calm down, little Avatar," Azula says, somewhat pleased she can still get under his skin. "It's quite simple, really. I was in the area. I found out the Earth Kingdom army was coming, so I decided to protect the city." As she speaks, the Avatar and Water Tribe exchange sceptical glances, and Azula finds herself growing irritated. Why won't they believe her?

"I'm only doing what Zuko would do," Azula adds testily. Then she realizes she sounds like a whiny child, and scowls even further. Something about the Avatar and Water Tribe just sets her on edge.

"Azula, the last we heard, you ran off into the forest," the Avatar says slowly and calmly, the way you might talk to a cornered and rabid animal. It's infuriating.

"Then you're about a year out of date," Azula snarls. "Check your facts, Avatar. Only three months ago I saved Zuko's life."

"No offense, but why should we believe you?" says the Avatar. "You have to admit, you commanding Fire Nation armies without Zuko's knowledge looks pretty bad."

"I don't—" Azula growls in frustration. "I don't expect people like you to understand. But I _am _trying to help Zuko in whatever way I can."

"Zuko sent _us. _Why would he want your help?" Water Tribe says cruelly.

Azula falls silent. Having these people from her past here calls to mind things she'd rather not think about. Her attempts to murder Zuko. Her mental instability after the war—a problem that hasn't completely gone away. How utterly useless and homeless she really is now.

"If you really are trying to help, the best way would be to stand aside," the Avatar says. "I'm here to supervise the election and get everyone to go home. Your presence will only—"

"Make things worse," says Azula dully. She deflates. "I know." The thing is, he's right. All her life, she thought she was good at politics. At manipulating people. But now, unable to use her name and face to negotiate, she can't fix this situation. She's an expert of war, not peace. No matter what Zuko says about love, there is no place for her in this new world. Everyone, even Zuko's friends, will always see her as a monster. Azula looks back up at the clouds, which had seemed so hopeful a few minutes ago. Now they drift pointlessly overhead, without a goal or destination. Worthless.

"Fine, Avatar." Azula unpins her bun and shakes her hair loose. "Go save the people. Be a hero. I won't stop you."

The Avatar hesitates. "What will you do?"

Azula laughs harshly. "I'll just go back to pretending Princess Azula never existed."

"Should we just let her go?" Water Tribe asks the Avatar, not even bothering to lower her voice. "She could still be dangerous."

"Don't worry, Water Tribe," Azula says. "I won't make the mistake of showing my face again." She starts down the stairs leading away from the wall, armor clanking heavily.

"Azula, wait—" the Avatar sounds conflicted, and almost sorrowful.

"Send Zuko my love," Azula says over her shoulder. _I won't ever try to be Princess Azula again. _


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Altan watches Temurin's outline through the filmy filter of the paper walls as the older man tugs on his boots and heads off. A silence falls. Without Temurin to argue with, Altan is left miserably alone with his thoughts. Out here in the country, the quiet is punctuated only when Jirou flips a page of the thick medical text he's reading. Altan glances at the gazette on the table: _Bahasa Under Siege! _He's already read the article twice with the desperate hunger of a guilty man, searching each line for clues about Nekana's fate, all the while knowing that he could have easily kept an eye on her by staying. Coward.

A gust of early winter wind blows through the open door. The paper walls rattle slightly, and the gazette flutters to the edge of the table. Annoyed, Altan slams his fist down on the newsletter before it can fly off. The wood-and-paper style of Temurin's family home baffles him; where he grew up, the dust storms would have blown this entire structure to the ground. Altan would take the solid, thick cloth of his childhood tents over these Fire Nation-style homes any day. Another breeze sweeps through, and the gazette flaps weakly under Altan's palm. This place is ridiculous. He wonders if Nekana grew up in a house like this. He wonders if she's alive.

"I'm going to go chop us some firewood," Altan says, rising suddenly. He shoves the newsletter into his coat pocket.

"Okay," Jirou says absently, squinting at a diagram in his book. The boy shivers, but says nothing else as Altan slips on his shoes and slides the door shut.

Temurin's house is only ten minute's walk away from Qima's main street, where a small cluster of shops huddle around the dirt road. But instead of heading into town, Altan walks east, farther out from the settlement. Every few hundred meters, he passes another house like Temurin's, built in the Fire Nation style: peaked roof, wood-and-paper walls resting on a wooden platform, surrounded by clotheslines and a small garden plot. The homes are tucked into the countryside, some perched on top of hills or half-hidden behind copses of trees. Outside one home, a small girl shrieks in delight as her small lizard-dog bounds up and licks her face. In an empty field, a young boy moves deliberately through what seems to be improvised firebending stances. In a way, rural Qima is beautiful. But the peaked roofs—the paper walls—none of it should be here. It's Fire Nation.

Still, the forest is spectacular. Tall oaks spread their branches wide over the smaller bushes and scraggly trees on the forest floor, and Altan can't help but marvel. New Azulon, where he's spent the past eight years, is mostly a plains city with sparse trees. And before that, when he camped with his mother and clan on the edge of the Si Wong desert, wood was a luxury.

Water was a luxury too. But the deep and slow-moving river that runs alongside this part of the road surely provides enough water for everyone in Qima. Altan treads carefully across the slimy logs to cross the river; on the other side, he finds himself surrounded by a wild evergreen forest. Water and wood in abundance. No wonder the Fire Nation doesn't want to return Qima to the Earth Kingdom.

Altan hefts the axe in his hand. Given his childhood in a treeless desert, he's actually the last person who should be cutting firewood. But he learned early on that in order to survive, he has to be amiable. Useful. And how hard can chopping down a tree be? Standing in front of a smallish pine, Altan grasps the wooden handle of his axe and swings. Thud. The impact shudders up the length of Altan's arm, in a way that hurts but not entirely unpleasantly. He wrenches the axe out and tries again. Thud. Altan slams the blunt metal again and again into the wood, his half-healed hand starting to throb. But no matter.

His elbows go slightly tingly from the repeated effort, and, unbidden, his mind drifts to all those times he tried to bend Earth, but was left only with numb and bleeding hands.

"_Try again!" Mother says. "Take a firm stance. Feel the power in your chest, and then let it out. Move the stone!"_

_Altan breathes in, settles his weight down into his heels. Then punches with all his might at the stone. He overshoots, and instead of moving the rock, he feels a sharp pain as his knuckles meet unyielding sandstone._

"_He's not a bender, Xi Ching," says an elder passing by. The older woman tugs her cloth veil off her face with a sun-wrinkled hand, and places her hand on Altan's back. He sniffs, trying not to cry._

"_How can my son not be a sandbender?" Mother snaps. "It's our way!"_

"_Your way, perhaps," says the elder. "But I suspect Altan will have to find a different way."_

_Shouts break out from a few tents over._

"_They're here-from the outpost-where's Xi Ching?" someone shouts. Wordlessly, Altan's mother rises and leaves, her cloth boots sending up puffs of sand._

"_Who's here?" Altan asks, his hand still smarting._

"_The Royal Army from Ba Sing Se," the elder says. "You see, Altan, your mother is very special..."_

With a crack, the slender tree trunk sways, connected to the bottom stump by a sliver of wood. Tentatively, Altan kicks the upper tree trunk, hoping to topple the tree. Nothing. Fall, damn it. He kicks again. He might not be a powerful sandbender or Earth Kingdom general like his mother, but surely he can cut down a stupid, lifeless, piece of wood—

The tree falls, slowly and inexorably. Straight towards Altan. _Shit._Throwing himself to the side, he lands heavily on a pile of dry, dead leaves. The tree misses him, instead crashing loudly across the dirt road. Altan knows he should get up, cut off the branches. But instead he stays on his back, panting. Dust and tiny leaf particles settle around him like the aftermath of a sandstorm, and the sky shines pale and blue through the holes in the forest canopy. _What am I doing here?_

Altan covers his face with the eye of his elbow and lets himself sink into the dirt. He had resolved to move to Bahasa or Ba Sing Se, somewhere, and make something of himself. But after meeting Nekana, his resolve to journey to stay in Bahasa had been shaken. Career and country had fallen away under the soft pressure of Nekana's lips, the fierce glare of her eyes. _So why, why did I leave her? _Eyes still closed, Altan presses a fist to his forehead. At least this time he did the leaving. For several long moments, Altan just lays there, postponing the time where he has to do anything. Leaves crunch in the distance, and an owl hoots. And then-

"Darling, don't tell me I walked all this way to find you dead."

Altan's eyes fly open. It's impossible. But there she is, standing smugly over him, tired and red-nosed but very much alive.

"Nekana—" He sits up, and then, without thinking about it, grabs Nekana's hand and pulls her down to him. With a huff of surprise, she crashes onto his chest, and the dust rises from the leaves again. Nekana coughs.

"What—"

Altan wraps both arms solidly around her, right hand tangling in Nekana's uncombed hair. Her face presses into the side of his neck.

"You came back," he says. Nekana places a hand on the ground and pushes herself up, settling herself more comfortably on his chest. Her eyelids are rimmed with red, and there are blue half-moons under her golden eyes. She brushes back his hair with a dirt-stained fingers, thumb trailing down the side of his face.

"I promised I would come back," she says. And then her mouth is on his, her hand on his hip, and she tastes both bitter and sweet. He tries to breathe her in, absorb every part of her. But as he inhales he's overwhelmed by the same bitter scent that coats her tongue, laced with a sickly sweetness. He pulls away. It can't be.

"Nekana. Did you…have you been smoking yapian?"

Her bottom lip protruding in an uncharacteristically childish way. "Who cares," she pouts. Her lips move to meet his collarbone as one hand slips under his coat.

"No, really," Altan moves to the side and props himself up on an elbow. "Nekana, why have you been smoking yapian? What to you happened in Bahasa? How did you get out?" She doesn't answer, but slides off him to the forest floor.

"I know what yapian smells like," Altan persists. "So why don't you—"

"Enough," snaps Nekana. "You're not my father." She stumbles unsteadily to her feet, and then, whipping her head around like someone has called her name, she stares into the dense underbrush on her left. "And that's enough from you, too," she spits.

Altan's stomach turns to icy lead. "Who are you talking to?" he demands. The sun has started to set, and Nekana casts a long, dark shadow. He shivers without knowing why.

Nekana slowly turns to meet Altan's eyes, face dead and blank. "Don't tell Temurin," she says. "Think what you will, but don't tell Temurin."

And with that, she heads back to the main road, leaving Altan alone in the woods.

At the sound of the bell, children pour out of Qima's lone schoolhouse. Temurin stands off to the side from the other parents, uncomfortably aware of their whispers and pointed stares. _By the Spirits, I'm not the first man to get divorced, _Temurin thinks bitterly. But he may be the first to get betrayed so publicly. He works hard to keep his lip from curling. This place brings back all his rotten memories, scenes piled up on one another like slops for rooster-pigs. Temurin only hopes the whispers haven't reached Haojun.

His daughter steps out of the schoolhouse last, her dark braids pinned neatly into buns on either side of her head. She clutches a slender exercise book and a leather satchel Temurin once brought back from a trip to Yu Dao. This is his third day picking her up, but her small face remains drawn and pinched when she spots him. Temurin waves. Haojun rewards him with a slight twitch of her lips that could approximate a smile.

"Hi Haojun," Temurin says, kneeling as she approaches. "How was your day?"

"I'm cold," she says. He takes her hands and covers them with his own. Her fingers are thin and delicate.

"Then let's get you home," he says. "I'll light a fire, and we can finish the book we started yesterday."

Haojun nods neutrally, and Temurin's heart constricts. But at least she isn't pulling away from him. But then Haojun's face lights up. She pulls her hands out of Temurin's grasp and runs past him.

"Mama!"

Temurin's breath catches. It's a double punch to the gut. For a moment that seems to last forever and not long enough, he stares dead ahead. _Spirits help me. _


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

By the time Altan catches up to Nekana, she's reached the bridge that leads back to the road.

"Where are you going?" he yells at her back. "You don't even know where Temurin's house is!" He walks as quickly as he dares across the wet, mossy logs.

"I knew you'd follow me," Nekana says, not even bothering to turn around. _Damn her. _She just shows up with no explanation, reeking of yapian, not caring how worried he's been, demanding that he keep her little secret…

Her foot slips. Nekana quickly regains her balance, but a horrible idea blossoms in Altan's mind. She can't go back to Temurin's house smelling like this—her skin, her clothes, everything stinks with that distinctive poison. So before he can overthink it, Altan takes one step forward. And shoves Nekana as hard as he can off the bridge.

Her garbled scream of fury is horrifying but brief before she hits the water face-first. With a loud splash, she disappears beneath the murky water.

_Sacred spirits. _Can she even swim? Altan swears loudly and starts to take off his boots. He can't swim, but should he jump in? What was he thinking? He's killed her, he knows it. Several more long seconds pass by, and she still hasn't emerged. She's dead. Oh spirits.

And then, like a swamp creature of legend, she bursts from the water on the other side of the bridge, hot steam billowing around her. Nekana lands on the bridge heavily, apparently propelled out of the water by the two blue flames flickering in her hands. _Blue? _

"_You_," she hisses at Altan. Her hair is wet and matted, and her eyes drip with venom. "You dare—you presume to—" She seems at a loss for words, advances on Altan with terrible intent.

So Altan makes the only reasonable choice he available to him. He throws himself into the river. As he falls, he's rewarded by Nekana's expression of complete shock.

_Cold. _The current is almost non-existent, which is something, but Altan's coat is heavy and he struggles to claw towards the blue sky overhead. His head breaks the surface.

"Help!" he screams at Nekana before he goes back under. He resurfaces for a second time. "Help!" This time he swallows water, and his nose burns. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He hears a splash, but can't tell if it's him who made it, and who cares anyway when he's busy dying?

Then a small, firm hand grasps the back of his coat and drags him sideways. He tries to kick helpfully, but since he doesn't know which way is up or down he's not sure if he's making things better or worse. And then he feels the cool mud of the bank against his desperate fingertips and gratefully crawls to dry land. He presses his face against the grass. Sweet, sweet earth.

"You are the dumbest person alive!" Nekana's shout cuts through the water clogging his ears. "You're even more thick-headed than my brother! Why did you jump, you _idiot!?_"

Altan flops to his back. "I hoped you would take pity on me," he admits.

Nekana crouches over him and wrings her hair out over his face.

"No-" Water spatters into his eyes, and he blinks furiously.

"Luckily for you, I am merciful," Nekana sneers.

"You needed a bath." Altan sits up and rubs the river water from his eyes. "_Spirits_, Nekana, why did you do that?"

"I was just finishing what you started." Altan tries to dry his hands off on his pants, but of course every part of him is wet. And getting colder every second as the winter sun begins to set. As if she can read his mind, Nekana holds out a hand. He takes it and doesn't let go, pulling her closer.

"Tell me what happened in Bahasa," he says. Infuriating as she is, chewing yapian isn't like her. "Please, Nekana."

Her expression closes. "It doesn't matter."

_Jirou swims through an icy river, soft plant matter and mud brushing his feet. His teeth are chattering, but there are fires on either bank, and he knows if he emerges the dragon-army will swallow him whole._

"_Heal us," the river-spirit floating beside him says. Her skin sprouts mushrooms or weeds._

"_I haven't read that part of the book yet!" Jirou splutters. His mouth fills with water. He sinks._

_Underneath the surface, dead fish float. One pops opens its eyes and smiles with human teeth._

"_Join the revolution, Jirou," it says. "Before the banks overflow."_

_The water shivers like the spirits are rattling the earth in an empty box._

The front door slides open with a sharp _bang, _and Jirou wakes. Ugh. Blearily, he peels his face off his anatomy textbook and lifts his head to greet his uncle, but freezes when he sees Nekana, soaking wet, dripping onto the wooden floor.

"Hello, Chicken," she says. "Studying hard?"

"I…you're wet."

Altan appears behind Nekana, also soaked from head to toe and looking remarkably unhappy for someone whose girlfriend has just turned up alive. _What happened to them?_

As if she could hear his thoughts, Nekana shoots a deadly glare at Altan and curls her lip. "This idiot insisted we take a swim." She pulls off her shoes and prowls into the house. "Where's your uncle's room? I need clothes."

"You could wear mine," Altan sulks.

"You're too tall," she replies cooly. "Jirou?"

Jirou stumbles up to show her the way, nearly tripping over the low table. How did she get out of Bahasa? And when? Who won? Not sure where to start, Jirou leads Nekana into the back room. Nekana rifles through Temurin's still-unpacked sack for dry clothes.

"How are you alive?" Jirou finally demands to her back. Nekana laughs bleakly and tosses one of Temurin's tunics over her shoulder.

"Because I'm sadly indestructible," she says.

"Oh." Jirou shifts awkwardly and starts to sidle out of the room. _How is she so intimidating? Is this a girl thing, or just her? _"I'll just leave you, then…"

"Wait." Nekana rises and looks Jirou right in the eyes. "I wanted to tell you. The Earth Kingdom army was still outside Bahasa's gates when I left."

"The liberation failed?"

"It stalled." Nekana flips her wet hair over her shoulder. "The Avatar is there now, and I'm sure he'll come up with a compromise that leaves everyone alive and unhappy."

"The _Avatar?_"

Nekana laughs less harshly this time. "I promise to tell you about it later, Chicken." She slides the door gently shut, and Jirou stands there dumbly for a second before he remembers she's changing. Ah.

Back in the kitchen, Altan is still struggling to escape his wet, padded cotton coat.

"What happened?" Jirou whispers, face still red. "Did she just appear from nowhere? That's so _weird. _And why did you take a bath in winter? Fully clothed?"

"I was chopping wood—and she smelled-ugh, can you just help me!" Altan gasps in frustration as he manages to pin his arm against his torso through a tortuous twisting of fabric.

"By the spirits, Altan…" Jirou deftly unloops the latches on Altan's coat, then takes hold of one sleeve and braces himself to pull. "Ready?"

"What is going on?"

Uncle, little Haojun, and a woman who must be Uncle's ex-wife stand in the doorway. _Oh man. _The woman is somewhat pretty, Jirou supposes, but with a square jaw and a sour expression. But then all three of them look sour. Jirou lets go of Altan's sleeve, and the young man stumbles back a few paces.

"Uncle, you won't believe it—"

"Is Temurin finally back?" Nekana walks in from the back room, fully dressed at least, but slouchily wearing Temurin's long-sleeve shirt and trousers. She squeezes her damp hair with a towel. "I had hoped he-oh." She halts in the middle of the room, feet bare against the tatami floor. For once Nekana seems speechless as she surveys the scene: Altan angrily flapping the wet arm of his coat, Haojun holding her mother's hand, and Temurin standing motionless with an expression of absolute horror etched on his face. _Uh-oh._

"Who are these strange people?" The ex-wife looks livid. "Who have you brought into our house? Near our daughter?"

But Uncle seems to have been struck completely dumb. When he finally tears his eyes away from Nekana he stares avidly at his ex-wife, as if hoping an explanation for the unmarried and still-dripping couple would appear written on his ex's forehead. A long second stretches by. Then another. And Jirou knows he has to step in. He has to save the adults from themselves.

"Hello, Auntie," he says cheerfully. He bows to the new woman, who raises an eyebrow. "I'm Jirou, and this is my father's cousin Altan and his wife Nekana. They're on their way to the Earth Kingdom, and Uncle said they could travel with us. For safety, you know." He gives his most winsome grin.

Remarkably, Jinlian buys it. Temurin feels like his skin is crawling with fire-ants as Jinlian kissed Haojun goodbye and then tilts her head significantly towards the porch. Ah yes. Time to talk. The strange nausea that lifted for a second when he saw Nekana presses in on him again.

Outside, the sky has turned orange at the edges, and the first stars glimmer mid-horizon. The woods to the east sway with breeze and secrets. A thin, pathetic tree trunk lies abandoned outside the house; Temurin doubts it will keep the house warm for more than a night. Jinlian turns to Temurin, right hand grasping her opposite elbow like she can hold herself together.

"Where's your mother?" Jinlian asks. "Shouldn't she be here?"

"She's dyeing some blankets in town." Temurin is sure Jinlian still wants Haojun to live with her. But if she thinks she can leave him and let his daughter be raised by another man, she can think again.

"Congratulations on your marriage," Temurin says, failing to keep the bitterness from his voice. "A bit soon, but you never were one for delay."

"I don't want to fight," Jinlian sighs, twisting her hair with one hand. She always does that when she's nervous. "I'm not a monster, Temurin."

"You don't get to say that," Temurin snaps. "We haven't talked since the morning after, so you don't get to just decide it's all in the past!"

"And why haven't we talked?" Jinlian's voice is raised now, her upper lip quivering like it does when she's deeply upset. "Because _you left_, just like you always do!"

"I left because you _betrayed me _and then told me it was over!" Temurin shouts.

"You left because you were afraid of your responsibilities!"

"_Spirits_, do you even hear yourself?" Temurin wants to be done with this conversation, wants to be gone, because maybe once he gets away from her he won't feel like his insides are being slowly pulled apart. "I'm a _traveling doctor_. I can't just _stay here._"

"Why not?" Jinlian says. "Your daughter was here, I was here, why couldn't you just-stay?" As always, she's ablaze with emotion, her words skewering Temurin where he stands. He imagines it—being the one left behind with a baby in a small town not his own. But if that was all, why didn't she tell him? He would have stayed, if she had said something he would have stayed. His anger overwhelms his pity and curdles into disgust.

"This is a fight we should have had while we were together," Temurin says hopelessly. "I don't see any point to it now."

In town, someone bangs the drum that signals nightfall. The slow, steady beats sound funereal and final, and so are Jinlian's next words.

"I want Haojun back."

_Drum. Drum. Drum. _Winter nights fall early in Qima.

"Family is something you should have thought about before."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

_Disclaimer: Drug use._

* * *

Azula's memories of her time in the insane asylum are spotty. Cool white walls, simpering nurses, the suffocating embrace of a straitjacket. Sometimes her mother or father would visit, staying with her through the long hours of the night, whispering things. In retrospect, of course, those were just delusions. But she didn't imagine Zuko, the anger and hurt in his eyes slowly giving way to fear and sadness as the time stretched on. Or did it? So hard to tell, so hard to know.

Once she escaped her recollections become clearer, with only a few patches of blankness. And then, after she finally found her mother, after Zuko chased after her in the dark forest, begging her to come back, her memories regained the crystal sharpness that had leaked away after Mai and Ty Lee betrayed her.

Which is why Azula remembers, in excruciating detail, the three months she spent hiding from Zuko in a Fire Nation forest.

_There. _Azula finishes daubing mud against the log wall of the lean-to she's built in the shadow of a large stone. It's a perfect little hut, and should block out the rain or snow fairly well. Not for the first time, Azula applauds herself for her incredible ingenuity. But then it hits her that her ingenuity is being used to build a mud hut in a Colonial backwater, and her mood sours.

She ducks inside the shelter, bringing with her the small pot of water she's lugged all the way from the river. This better work. Azula hangs the pot onto a stick so that it is suspended mid-air and summons two blue flames, holding her hands beneath the pot. Within seconds, the water boils, bubbles teeming over the sides with furious energy.

Azula extinguishes one hand and reaches over for the small, dark packet she bought from Mila in Bahasa. Carefully, she taps about a quarter of the powder into the pot. Eating the raw yapian on the road to Qima didn't produce a vision. But maybe a tea will.

She waits for it to steep. Pours. Watches the dark liquid swirl around the inside of the cup, thick steam curling up over the edges. She doesn't understand why Altan hates the smell so much; for her, the yapian tea is scented with exhilaration. Promise. And the only hope she has left. She drinks.

_Come on, Zuko. Show yourself. What am I supposed to do? _

But as she lays back onto the mossy floor of her den, her body warm and tingling, the only thing she sees are the pine logs leaning against the stone, held together by still-drying mud. Her body pulses with satisfaction, a liquid gold running up and down her spine. It's relief, it's power like she used to feel before she lost her edge. And before she exiled herself here. As the clouds grow thicker, Azula lets her eyelids flutter shut. What is destiny when she can feel like this?

The next day she returns to her yapian hut and determines to make Zuko speak to her. It's snowing, and the sun hasn't even risen yet, but it's the only moment she can find to sneak away. This time she forges a makeshift pipe, filling her hut with dense smoke that makes her cough and brings wild green nightmares, but no spirit visions. The hours pass by, snow piling up on her roof, but inside it's warm and swirling.

Afterwards, she rinses herself off in the icy river, washing away the last bits of lazy relaxation. A dread curls in her stomach. _This isn't working. _But what else can she do?

So she tries again.

She makes yapian tea, she smokes yapian smoke, she chews it raw, she mixes the powder with other food. Day by day, week by week, the time passes in a haze of frustration and silence.

The mayor of Qima is clearly a third-generation Colonial citizen. Mayor Sota's pretentious airs, out-of-date Fire Nation robes, and constant references to "the motherland" reveal Sota to be painfully self-conscious about her backward upbringing. Or at least that's what Azula thinks when Temurin takes her to meet the Mayor.

"Thank you so much, Mayor Sota," Temurin bows deeply. "Nekana will provide your granddaughter with the finest tutelage the Fire Nation can offer."

"I certainly hope so," Sota warbles. She sips a cup of dark teh manis, her hand shaking slightly. Azula watches Sota's hand with interest. The sign of a yapian addict? Or just the tremors of old age? Azula notes that Wakaba, Mayor Sota's granddaughter, also watches Sota's trembling hand. The girl is a few years younger than Azula and tall, but stands hunched like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"The Firelord is _finally _instituting a Civil Service Exam!" Sota continues. "To promote skilled youngsters like my Wakaba to the top of the bureaucracy!"

"Finally?" Azula asks wickedly. "Are you criticizing His Imperial Majesty?"

Sota's face pales. Or at least Azula thinks it does. It's hard to tell, because Sota has caked a truly grotesque amount of white courtesan makeup on top of her wrinkled flesh.

"Oh no," Sota exclaims. "No, I did not mean to imply—"

"Nekana was only teasing," Temurin appeases her. He glares at Azula, who bats her eyes innocently. He coughs.

"We are deeply loyal to the Firelord here!" Sota continues. And then, to Azula's horror, the old woman pulls out a small portrait of Zuko from some hidden pocket in her robes. "Look!" She thrusts the picture at Temurin, who takes it gingerly.

"Isn't he handsome?" Sota gushes. Wakaba covers her face with her hand. Azula wonders if there is something seriously wrong with this old woman.

"I—yes?" Temurin says.

"His scar is on the wrong side," Azula says.

Twenty minutes later, as they exit the estate, Temurin shakes his head with disappointment, his eyebrows knitting together darkly.

"Nekana, you shouldn't torment an old woman," he says. "Sota may seem odd, but she's far from the worst mayor out there."

"Yes, yes," Azula dismisses him. She shudders at the tacky statues of Firelord Azulon mounted at the gate of Mayor Sota's estate.

"I'm serious." Temurin stops on the shaded garden path. "Nekana, you're kinder than this."

Azula grinds her jaw.

"It was your idea to get a job while we stay here. So follow through," Temurin persists.

"I get it," she says tightly. There's an itching under her skin, and the walk back to Temurin's house will be long. It's time for another attempt to summon young Zuko. Or another spirit that could help her. Not that her past two weeks of spirit-summoning have been effective. But why should she be surprised? She's not Princess Azula anymore. If Bahasa taught her anything, it's that there is nothing in store for her. No destiny, no triumphant return to the Fire Nation. There is nothing more than whatever scraps of non-misery she can steal for herself as a peasant in Qima.

They pass onto the main village road. The streetside morning market is closing down as townsfolk gather up the vegetables and pastries they brought to sell. Very few of them have rooster-horses, but instead use handcarts. With a start, Azula realizes Temurin's possession of a wagon and that damnable rooster-horse is actually a sign of relative wealth.

"I got Zhao's letter back today," Temurin murmurs as they dodge a crotchety-looking cabbage merchant .

"And?"

"And nothing. She just repeated her demand for information about how Qima's vote will proceed, and ignored what I said completely!" Temurin shoves his hands in his coat pockets, frustrated.

"So you still don't want to spy for her?" Azula asks.

"Of course not," Temurin sighs. "I got into…you know…my side business for the money. I don't want to be involved in politics or the—the—" He huffs. "The death throes of an empire!"

"The Fire Nation is hardly dead," Azula shoots back. Although she's not supposed to care anymore, it's hard. Words like "empire" make her former self perk up her head with interest, as if awakened from a deep, boring dream.

"Regardless. Kana, Zhao knows where my mother lives. Mila knows even better; she's visited before. They both know where my daughter is. So how can I refuse her? There's only so much I can do by staying here…" He breathes on his hands, which are red and chapped. "The vote is only two weeks away. Maybe I can just give Zhao what she wants, and she'll let me go."

"You'd sacrifice the fate of your village to save your own skin?" Azula shakes her head. "Temurin, I wouldn't even do that. So it's definitely beneath _you._"

"Not my own skin," Temurin replies shortly. "My family."

"Right. Well I don't have one of those, so clearly I have no idea how hard this decision is for you," Azula says bitterly.

"I hate it when you talk like that." Temurin stops in the street and tugs on Azula's sleeve to guide her to a dirt sidestreet to the left. "Let's go this way."

"Why?" Azula asks. "It's faster to walk down the main road."

"There's a shortcut this way," Temurin says evasively. "Come on—"

"No," Azula jerks her elbow out of his grasp. "You're lying. You know I can always tell when you're lying."

"Can you just listen, for once—"

And then Azula sees Jinlian in the blacksmith's shop, offering a plate of baos to the hulking man hammering a white-red piece of metal. Even from here, Azula can see his massive biceps contracting, and her mouth falls open. With one final stroke, he finishes the job, and lifts his mask to reveal a strong, wide, and oddly young face.

"No way…is that..?"

"Yes," Temurin spits. "Her new husband."

The blacksmith smiles at Jinlian and shoves one whole bao into his mouth. Azula imagines he has sturdy, cow-like teeth. _Sages_, he's over a foot taller than Jinlian, and she's not short! Azula bursts out into laughter, and doesn't even stop when Temurin drags her forcibly off the road and into the sidestreet, out of sight.

"What is so funny?" he demands. He looks genuinely angry, and Azula tries to stop laughing, but she just can't.

"It's just…such a stereotype," she cackles. "It's like Jinlian picked-the most obvious person in the village to sleep with—"

"Kana, you are seriously—"

"No really!" Azula chuckles. "It's such a boring choice! It's as if she's living out some weird drama where she plays a caricature of the cheating wife—" Another thought occurs to her. "Wait, how old is her new husband?"

"I don't know," Temurin says uncomfortably. "Younger. Young. Why does it matter?"

"She really did just choose this guy to spite you," Azula says in amazement. "I'm not sure even _I _would go that far to hurt someone. And I have fewer scruples than almost everyone I've met."

"Well, she succeeded," Temurin says. "She tore my heart out."

Azula looks at him sidelong, wishing she could say something to sympathize. But romantic love, at least, hasn't scalded her too badly. What pain it's caused is hidden deep within her, tangled with other feelings and memories, so confused and garbled that it barely counts, and would take too long to explain to be helpful...not that she ever could explain it. To anyone.

Looking for a distraction, Azula pokes her head out into the street again, and finds Jinlian and her husband's lips locked together. He looks like he's eating her face…or maybe it only appears that way because he's so oversized.

"I think lots of people will be taking your shortcut soon," Azula reports back. "Jinlian's teenaged husband seems really hormonal."

"Don't be so mean," Temurin shakes his head as they head off. "And besides, I'm sure he's not actually a teenager."

"I'm eighteen," Azula says dryly.

"The legal age of marriage for women is lower than it is for men. Which you should know, since you're pretending to be married to Altan," Temurin says.

"Joy," Azula adds tonelessly. Temurin walks quickly behind a row of shops and into a verdant field, and Azula follows him. His thin, wiry shoulders contrast dramatically from the blacksmith's hearty frame, and Azula is struck by yet another realization.

"Temurin…you said you walked in on Jinlian and her lover," she says. "And that you kicked them both out onto the street."

"Yes. It was horrible. Are you determined to make me relive all my worst experiences today?"

"No, it's just…the blacksmith is _big._" Azula jogs so she's a little in front of Temurin and can see his face.

"And?"

"So you're telling me, you threw that _absolutely monstrous specimen _of a man out of your house? Forcibly?"

"I was angry," Temurin shrugs.

"Wow." _Impressive. _Azula looks at her friend in a slightly new light. Sure, he killed a man in New Azulon, but she chalked that up to a happy accident. She wonders what would happen if she ever saw Temurin truly, properly angry. Right now he just looks deflated. And even though the pulling for more yapian is tugging harder at the back of her mind, Azula tries to push the urge aside.

"I bet the blacksmith is really awful in bed," she says.

"_Nekana!" _

"I'd guess Jinlian is very unfulfilled," Azula continues on. "He's more like a saber-toothed moose lion than a man! Or a platypus-bear…"

A tiny smirk twitches at Temurin's lips. "I know what you're trying to do," he says. "But her unhappiness would bring me no pleasure." His green eyes meet her gold ones.

"Give it time," Azula says. "Everything fades away with time." _Even those things you thought were most central to your life fade away so quickly._

A wave of need washes over her, and she clenches her fists and speeds up. Maybe this time, the spirits will have something to say to her.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Breaths shallow with effort, Altan heaves the last log into the back of Temurin's wagon. The tree clunks solidly on top of a full load of wood-not stacked too neatly, but definitely a good day's work. _Finally. _Altan allows himself to sink to the ground, resting his head against the wheel of the wagon. His hands fall palms-up on his lap, his sweat stinging in the open blisters. It's been more than a month since he left New Azulon, since he's done any real physical labor. As he sits on the cold dirt, he watches the forest edge. He's so far from where he grew up. Nothing could be more different—mud instead of sand, a river instead of a mirage, humid air instead of desert breeze. But still, there are parts of Qima that bring the scent of the desert back to him. Like the openness of the endless blue sky, or the sweat after a long day of good work.

Or half-sinking, half-hoping feeling of a love that isn't returned.

Nekana emerges from the forest, hair wet and fresh from her river bath. Doubtless she's been off smoking in the woods again. She looks unusually discouraged, kicking a stone spitefully as she heads back to Temurin's house. Somehow, she hasn't seen him yet.

"Nekana."

She wasn't expecting him to be there. So, if at the sound of his voice she had scowled or looked up in blank surprise, her reaction would have confirmed Altan's fears: that she didn't truly care for him. And if that were the case, he could have left Qima. He could have made his own way to Ba Sing Se, studied for a government position, and proved himself to his mother. It would be hard, but he could have done it. But that isn't what happens.

She smiles. And it's enough for Altan to stay.

"That's a lot of wood," she says. She sinks down to the ground and leans against his shoulder. Her hair leaves a damp patch on Altan's shirt, but since Altan's already covered in sweat he doesn't mind.

"Well, since we're staying here for the winter I figured I should make myself useful." Altan wraps his arm around her as she relaxes into him. It's hard to stay angry at her when she can be so…vulnerable. But his throat tightens when he sees the thinness of her wrist, so delicate it looks like he could break it with one hand. She can't keep this up.

"Have you been eating?" he asks quietly.

"Of course," Nekana lies easily.

"Nekana, please…"

"Fine. My appetite is a bit low. Happy?" she snarls. But even her anger is subdued, and that's even more terrifying than her weight loss. Altan turns so he can look into her face.

"Nekana, why are you doing this?" he asks. "That stuff will kill you, you know it will!"

"You know, Altan, do you get a kick out of rejection? Otherwise, I'd think you'd get bored of asking the same pointless question every day." She gets up to leave. Altan catches her by her slender wrist.

"Tell me now," he demands. "Tell me, or I'll tell Temurin you've been smoking yapian for weeks."

"Fine," she says. She twitches her wrist away, uncomfortable. "I've been trying to connect to the Spirit World."

"What? Why would you think yapian-"

"Because it worked once!" Nekana says desperately. "It worked once, and I have to talk to someone. I have to know…if there's any hope. Any point, at all, to this." She gestures wildly: at Altan, at the wagon, at the village in the distance. "Because if there's not—"

"You need the spirits to tell you if there's a point to life?" Altan says slowly. "Spirits, Nekana, is life now really that terrible?"

"That's not what I meant," Nekana says angrily.

"Then what did you mean?" Altan stands too so he doesn't have to look up at her. "What was so much better about your life before?" He laughs sharply. "You never talk about it, so I wouldn't know."

"I had a _purpose_, then!" Nekana shouts. Her eyes glisten. "There was a _point _to what I did, and I knew who I was!" She shuts her eyes, and the tears escape down her face. "I was alone but at least I knew who I was."

"But you're not alone now," Atlan protests. He takes her hands.

_If you knew the truth, you'd leave me more quickly than you can possibly imagine. _Altan is earnest, but he doesn't understand. How could he? Azula slips her hands out of Altan's, and hurt blooms across his flushed face.

"I'll see you at the house," Azula says. It will take him a while to hitch the grazing rooster-horse back to Temurin's wagon, and even longer to make it back to Temurin's family home. It will give her time to think, or at least time where she doesn't have to listen to his accusations and _feelings _which make her feel oddly…guilty? She wipes away the wetness on her cheeks.

Besides, she has bigger problems. She's used up all the yapian she bought from Mila. Which means…_I'll have to steal from Temurin. _Azula feels a resurgence of unease and pushes it to the back of her mind. What is Temurin going to do with his remaining yapian anyway? He promised not to sell it in Qima.

Temurin's house, perched on the top of a slight hill, comes into view. It's so much smaller than anywhere Azula's lived, even Azula's family house on Ember Island, but at the same time it feels somewhat…homey. Small, rugged, peasant-like, and homey. She slips off her shoes on the outside porch and slides the door open. A patient is lying on the low dining table, face up, while Temurin and Jirou peer into his mouth. Jirou wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"Did you have a good walk?" Temurin asks without looking up.

"Delightful."

"Why are you always wet?" Jirou says. "It's _winter! _No one needs to bathe _every other day_!"

"Fire Nation custom," Azula lies blithely. "Where I come from, people wash daily."

"Oh really?" Temurin's mother emerges from the kitchen, a small building attached to the side of the house. "Because I was a maid to a great Fire Nation lady, and she only bathed once a year!"

Jirou snickers. His grandmother dries her hands on her apron before ruffling his hair affectionately. Like many Colonial citizens, Hagane is dressed in a mix of green and red, but the topknot barely containing her unruly black hair is unmistakably Fire Nation. As is the proud tilt of her chin and her steely gaze.

"Nekana, come help me in the kitchen," she orders. "You've avoided me long enough."

"_Ma!" _Temurin says, finally glancing up from his patient. "Be nice."

"It's fine." Azula stands up a little straighter. Since the spirits are ignoring her, it will be fun to match wills against someone. Azula hasn't had the heart to pick a proper fight with Temurin recently; he's been so distracted and upset with his family problems. She cracks her neck.

"Good," Hegane says. "We're rolling out bao skin."

"Skin?" Azula follows Hegane out of the main room.

"Only a noble wouldn't know how to make bao," Hegane remarks incisively. As they take a step down into the kitchen, she ties back her remaining flyaway hair with a red tie that barely contains her ferocious mane. But contrasting with her hair, Hegane's kitchen is small and neat, with a large chest for ingredients taking up one corner. Opposite the chest is a wood-fire stove and a long table scattered with bowls of different sizes. _Is this what kitchens look like? _

"Just roll out the skins like I do," Hegane says. Azula sets to work, trying to roll out the dough into the same thickness and circular shape that Hegane does. It's monotonous work, but not unpleasant.

"So tell me. How did a noble end up traveling with my son?" Hegane's strong fingers pinch off a bunch of dough and flatten it deftly.

"I was the daughter of a factory manager—" Azula starts.

"Oh please," Hegane looks Azula straight on. "I said I was a housemaid to a great Fire Nation family. I can tell from the way you talk that you're highborn, not the daughter of some middling factory manager. So who are you? Why did you leave?"

Azula's hands slow. "You can believe me or not, as you choose," she says stiffly. "But I left because my presence was inconvenient to someone I love. And because I needed a new life."

"And have you found that new life? With your husband?"

_Oh sages. _Sometimes she still forgets that everyone thinks she's married to Altan. Azula opens her mouth to lie and say she's completely content here, but Hegane's grey eyes are piercing. It's good to be confronted with Fire Nation directness. Unfortunately, Azula has no direct answers.

"Did you find the new life _you _wanted? When you left the Fire Nation?"

"I can't complain," Hegane starts. But whatever she meant to say, her words are cut off by the bloodcurdling scream of a young child. Immediately, Azula and Hegane drop the bao skins and rush into the main room where Jirou is alone with the patient, then outside. Azula summons a small orange flame.

But just as quickly, she extinguishes it. Haojun is laying on the ground, crying her heart out, while Temurin and Jinlian try to comfort her.

"You'll see Mama tomorrow," Temurin says. He picks Haojun up, even though she's still screaming and kicking fiercely, and Jilian hovers around the pair like she wants to hold her daughter but is afraid to touch Temurin.

"_That's—too-long!" _the girl wails. Jinlian makes soothing noises and smooths back Haojun's hair.

"It's only one sleep away," Jinlian says in a choked voice.

Hegane makes a scathing noise in the back of her throat and moves forward.

"Haojun," she says commandingly. "Nekana and I need help making the baos. Can you help us?"

But Haojun only cries louder, sinking her little face into Temurin's neck. He bounces up and down, rubbing her back slowly.

"Perhaps you should go," Hegane tells Jinlian.

"She's my daughter too," Jinlian says tearfully. Azula grips the doorframe hard.

"_What is wrong with that child?" Ursa says, grabbing Azula by the hand. Azula lets her mother pull her along, unaware that tonight is the last time she will ever hold her mother's hand, not knowing she will sleep through her mother's final kiss…_

Azula's breath catches. "Could Jinlian stay for dinner?" she murmurs to Hegane.

The older woman looks completely scandalized that Azula is interfering, but Temurin overhears. He nods with the resigned air of a general deciding to lead a last, futile charge.

In all the commotion, Jirou's left alone with the patient.

"I'm not letting you pull my tooth," the older man says vehemently.

Jirou ignores him and picks up a crumpled piece of paper that fell from Uncle's pocket. He shouldn't read it. But of course he does.

_I expect full information about Mayor Sota's plans for the vote. Send your report with the next carrier out of Qima. The Revolution is in your hands. -M _

"What is that?" the patient asks curiously.

"A chance," Jirou says_. _He pockets the letter.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

After the most uncomfortable dinner of his life, Temurin needs a drink. But he has something more important to do first.

"Sleep well," he says to Haojun as he bundles her into her blankets. He kisses her cheek. There are only two rooms besides the main room and the kitchen, and Haojun and his mother are sleeping in the bigger one. The straw woven floor is hard but springy, with cotton bedrolls that can be rolled up and put to the side during the daytime. Haojun is wrapped in her small green blankets, only the tip of her nose peeking out.

"I drew a maze today," she says, voice muffled. "Want to see?"

"I—okay. But then you need to go to sleep." Temurin reaches over to Haojun's small satchel, looking for the drawing. He draws out a small piece of rough paper that is completely covered in a twisting black maze. The charcoal is smudged, but Haojun doesn't seem to care. She crawls over so she can place one finger on the map.

"You start here," she says. "And you have to find your way to the star."

Temurin tries to complete the maze with his finger, but it's actually very hard. _Where did she learn this? _When he finally reaches the star, he glows with real satisfaction.

"I got, it Haojun!" he says.

"This one is easy, I think," his daughter says. "How about…"

"No," Temurin says firmly. "It's time for bed. But I love your mazes, Haojun. They are really incredible."

"Life is a maze," Haojun says as she wriggles into her blankets.

"What!" Temurin laughs. _Does she even know what she's saying? _"Why is it like a maze, Haojun?"

"My fingers got black," she says sadly. She wipes them off on her blanket, leaving charcoal stains.

"It's okay," Temurin says. "We can wash them in the morning." He hesitates. "Did you like having Mama over for dinner?"

Haojun nods. "When will she live here again?" she asks.

"Oh honey," Temurin says. He had told her before he left for Taiyang, but she must not have believed him. "Mama isn't going to live here anymore. She—she has a new house now." Haojun's face falls, and he adds hastily "But she can visit here. And you can visit her new house in town." _Jinlian and I should have had this conversation with her together. Six months ago._

"We aren't going to be husband and wife anymore," he continues. "And I'm so, so sorry." Haojun looks more confused than anything.

"But we will always love you, and we will _always _be your parents."

Rain patters on the roof, and in the silence Temurin can hear every drop. How to explain this to a child? Where is the solution to Haojun's maze?

"Are you sad, Ba?"

"I'm very sad, Haojun."

He holds her hand until she falls asleep.

Out in the main room, Jirou and Altan are whispering in a corner about something, but Temurin is too tired to care. He heads to the kitchen, where he finds Nekana and his mother already drinking. Wordlessly, Ma pours him a full cup of strong rice wine.

"What do you have to drink about?" he asks Nekana. She raises her cup to him.

"As your mother and I were just discussing, I'm very far from home."

_Jinlian snaps her fingers, and Temurin is trapped in a room of fire. The walls are flames, roaring higher and higher, and Temurin scrambles away from their brilliant heat. The fire pops. Sparks burst in a shower of golden fireworks, and red-gold embers land on Temurin's pants. He brushes them off, swearing. The heat is unbearable. He has to get out. Jinlian must have left a way out. But the fire is merely swirling tighter and tighter around him, and soon he'll be devoured—_

_The flames part for a slender figure. Nekana. Temurin blinks the water out of his eyes and reaches out for her._

"_Nekana, thank the spirits, you can…" his voice trails off. Nekana is wearing her Fire Nation clothes again, and something in her posture is different. Her head is high, her gaze haughty. And then she laughs._

"_Nekana," Temurin says weakly again, falling to his knees. But Nekana is monstrous now, she's controlling the flames, her chest heaves as she breathes fire. Wordlessly, she stalks towards him, lifting her hands so the fire rises. _

"_Nekana, what are you—" Temurin says, standing and backing away. "Nekana, it's me!" But he's blocked by the rippling wall of flame behind him._

_Nekana's hands are on fire, her golden eyes glitter with reflected flames. She stops before him and looks up into his face. Temurin can't speak, her eyes are so hungry and her lips are so red. _

"_Temurin," she murmurs. Palms still smoking, she strokes his face with her left hand, her right arm snaking around his waist. "Temurin, don't be scared."_

_He's burning. Wherever she touches him, he can feel his skin melting, the flesh blackening, and he wants to scream but he can't, Nekana has him pinned like a bug against a card. She brushes her full red lips against his collarbone, and the softness of her skin is quickly followed by a searing pain. She kisses up his neck, to the place behind his ear, still whispering his name, and Temurin finds that even though she's burning him alive he's holding her tighter. His head throbs with a crimson headache. Because Nekana's body is muscular and soft and how long has he wanted to touch her like this? All his thoughts have been cleared away, and all that's left is Nekana, and pain, and ecstasy._

"_Nekana," he sighs. She's going to kill him, but he doesn't care. Her hair is long and loose, and she looks up at him with half-lidded eyes. She'll burn him and eat him, but before she does…she pulls his head down, scorching the skin of his neck, and her lips meet his. Temurin's eyes close. Her lips are cruel, her tongue is taunting, and her hands, her hands are still everywhere, narrowing the world to pain and her touch. He can feel her fingernails piercing his skin, ready to tear him apart. And even as everything fades into blackness, even as he's dying, Temurin still clutches Nekana to him as if they could melt together in this fiery hell she's created. Finally, finally…._

Temurin wakes with a start, panting. The rain has stopped, and next to him Jirou and Altan sleep peacefully. Even though the night air outside his blankets is frigid, Temurin is covered in sweat. He presses his hands to his face. What is wrong with him? He tries to regulate his breathing, but his heart is still pounding fiercely. There is no way he is falling back asleep.

_It's fine_, he tells himself, slipping out from the thick blankets on the floor. _It was a hard day. You're just tense_. Temurin strips off his sweat-soaked shirt, throwing it into the twisted mess of his sheets, and prowls into the main room. He steps into his boots and slips out the front door, rolling his shoulders, trying to work out all the energy that seems trapped inside him. It's natural that he's wound up and anxious after moving back to Qima. After dealing with the stress and pain of Jinlian again. And after spending so much time with a woman who is both intimidating and painfully beautiful…_no_.

Temurin kicks a pebble, and it bounces across the grassy plain. What a twisted thing to conjure up. Nekana's far too young and she's with Altan; his stress and loneliness have clearly just run away with him. He closes his eyes, but that won't do, because when he does he sees Nekana, reaching up to kiss him even as she burns him alive…

"Temurin?"

For a second, Temurin imagines it's Nekana, here to make his dream a reality…but the voice is young and cracked. Jirou approaches him, his thin face confused. He's wrapped in a fur blanket. "Why are you up? And aren't you cold?"

The boy's concern cuts through Temurin's aching blush. "I'm fine, Jirou," he says, putting his hand on his nephew's shoulder. He breathes deeply. "I just…had a nightmare." Jirou nods hesitantly.

"Well…you should come back," he says. "We're making house visits tomorrow, right?"

Temurin glances up at the stars. In the cool of the night, and with Jirou here, the details of his dream are slipping away. It was just the result of an overactive imagination. Nothing more. He smiles weakly at his nephew, and follows Jirou back inside. But when he passes the room where Nekana is sleeping, he flushes, his neck turning as scarlet as it was in the dream, where Nekana blistered his skin with her mouth.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_Disclaimer: Drug use._

* * *

Azula wakes slowly, eyes still closed as either Hegane or Haojun moves around the room. She hears the soft thumps of bare feet on the wooden floor, the rustling of cloth as bedrolls are folded and packed away. Her blanket is heavy and extreme comfortable, pressing her into the floor. Not just yet. Jirou's soft snores still emanate from the mens' room, separated from the women's room only by a sliding paper wall. At first, Azula found sleeping according to gender an inconvenient and antiquated arrangement—after all, wasn't she pretending to be a newly-married woman? But there is something about the peace of the mornings that she enjoys. Someone is moving around the kitchen, stacking wood in the stove. Temurin? Maybe there will be porridge for breakfast. Azula wriggles further into her blankets with satisfaction. She's never shared a room or lived in a home before, certainly not when-

"Umph!" Azula is jolted from her lazy torpor by a sharp pressure on her arm as someone steps on her forearm. There's a high-pitched squeak, and then a small, warm body falls square on Azula's chest, one hand flying out wildly to clutch at Azula's nose. Immediately, Azula sits bolt upright, and the child rolls onto the floor with a soft thud.

"I'm sorry!" Haojun cries. Azula forces her eyes open to find Haojun spilled out on the floor, her skinny limbs askew like a collapsed pile of matches. Haojun's hair is just as wild and curly as Hegane's and covers half her face.

"I'm sorry but it's morning anyway, and Ba says breakfast is almost ready, so—"

"I'm awake," Azula says, pushing her anger down. Haojun's only a child. Temurin's daughter scampers from the room, perhaps allured by the smell of rooster-pork porridge. Azula dresses quickly in the new set of Colonial clothes she's bought in Qima: loose green pants and a red top that wraps around her torso, tying at the sides and the back. Her sleeves are loose and edged with a pale pink, of all colors. Azula tightens the pink strings to allow for more freedom of movement. It makes her think of Ty Lee and the ridiculous outfits her friend would wear. Ty Lee would probably like living here, Azula thinks. Temurin may think of his family as broken, but living here with Hegane and Haojun and Altan and Jirou…nothing could be less broken. With a pang, Azula thinks of Zuko and Mai and Kazuto. Are they waking up together? Azula allows herself a moment of sadness before pushing this emotion away, too. She'll never see them again. You're no one, she reminds herself harshly. The spirits are silent.

"Good morning," Temurin says politely as Azula plunks herself down at the low dining table. "Would you like some porridge?" For some reason, he addresses her forehead, green eyes boring into the spot between her eyebrows. Azula narrows her eyes. He's hiding something. The head of the Dai Lee in Ba Sing Se had looked just like this when he was plotting behind her back. Azula shakes her head. Temurin's not plotting anything. Well, nothing she doesn't already know about. Dealing with a politically motivated druglord and an unhappy ex-wife is enough to make anyone act odd.

She picks at her porridge, letting the conversation wash over her. Summoning the spirits has really dampened her appetite. The hunger for yapian simmers at the back of her mind, even though she went to the forest last afternoon. She's out of yapian. Which means she'll have to steal some, either from Temurin or from someone else…perhaps the Mayor has a stash somewhere. Azula absently walks to the door and starts pulling on her Fire Nation boots. She saved Zuko from an assassination attempt while wearing these boots. Now they are covered with Colonial mud.

"Your coat!" Altan says as Azula makes to leave. Oh. Azula hadn't really noticed he had been sitting next to her. She flashes him a grateful smile and shrugs on her padded cotton jacket. Her fingers tremble and fumble at the hooks. Damn.

"Fingers cold?" Altan says. He rises from the floor and deftly does up the latches on her coat, so close she can smell the scent of his skin: pine sap and sex. As he does up the last hook near her neck, he leans closer, lips almost brushing her ear, about to speak.

"Don't," Azula says harshly. If he's about to ask her to quit yapian again, she'll scream. Doesn't he understand how crucial it is that she knows her destiny? If he knew how much she needs this, he wouldn't be making such an unreasonable request.

Altan frowns. Then kisses her forehead. "Have a good day teaching," he says.

"Do you want me to walk you to the Mayor's house?" Temurin offers as he clumsily ties a red ribbon around Haojun's braids. "I'm dropping Haojun off at school in a few minutes." He still doesn't meet Azula's eyes.

"I'm fine."

The world outside is dusted with a thin layer of snow, but the air is brittle and sharp in Azula's nostrils. She feels much colder than she ever remembers being before, even in the icy mountains in the Fire Nation archipelago. Maybe the Colonies really are colder._Or maybe I've lost some body fat. _But even if that's true, who cares? She is no one.

For the next half hour, Azula slogs through the snow, trudging down the middle of Qima. She lets her mind go blank, seeing nothing but the mesmerizing white flakes of falling ice, hearing nothing but the crunch of snow under her boots. White powder like yapian freckles her nose.

Azula blinks, and she's already outside Mayor Sota's mansion. Servants surround her and usher her inside, gesturing for her to take off her coat. It seems like too much trouble to Azula, so she keeps it on. She's led to a sitting room with a fire, red hangings everywhere, it's more like the Red House than the Imperial Palace, and Azula starts to laugh. But then she sees him. Her father.

Ozai hangs on the wall above the fireplace, painted and flat but life-sized. Father's face shocks Azula like a bolt of her own lightning, and the room's furnishings—which had been fuzzy and unimportant before—suddenly sharpen into exquisite detail. A small table with two chairs sits near a large glass wall of windows, letting in the bright snow light. The glass is speckled with moisture from streaks of melting snow. Scrolls line the walls, and the fire pops warmly. And high up, above the shelves, are red tapestries and paintings of Azula's ancestors. Ozai, Azulon, Sozin…all are staring at her. Adrenaline rushes through Azula's veins. What would Father think of her now? But Father's dead, killed by his overambitious son. Azula feels a sickening guilt, but is awake for the first time today. She should focus. She has a job to do.

"Nekana?" Wakaba, Mayor Sota's granddaughter, skitters into the sitting room. She looks only a year or two younger than Azula: a tall girl, and large—not fat per se, but large boned and broad. If she were a soldier, Azula would put her in the front line of a hand-to-hand combat squadron. But despite her impressive size, Wakaba hunches her shoulders, looking nervous.

"It's good to meet you?" she says, bowing deeply and incorrectly. She straightens, flushing at her ears and the corners of her jaw. "My grandmother wants me to study for the Fire Nation civil service exam?" she says, again tilting her voice upwards at the end so the sentence sounds like a question. Azula finds it immediately annoying.

"Yes, that's why I'm here," Azula says. With her newfound acuity, she finally takes off her coat, draping it over a low sofa. Azula makes her way to the table and sits at a chair; predictably, Wakaba follows her. The girl timidly slides a scroll across the table towards Azula like she's feeding a particularly dangerous animal through the cage bars.

"I've already written a practice essay?" Wakaba says as if she's unsure that she really has. "Perhaps you could…"

It's as good a place to start as any. With an odd pitch of nervousness, Azula realizes she should have prepared for this meeting. Sure, she herself is brilliant, but that doesn't mean she knows how to impart that to others. She never tried to help Zuko with their schoolwork. Azula unfurls the essay to mask her momentary doubt.

_Essay Question 1: How did Earth Kingdom citizens benefit from the Fire Nation's presence on the mainland?_

_Essay Question 2: Why are Fire Nation citizens uniquely able to develop steam technology?_

Azula skims Wakaba's essays. _Natural superiority of firebenders…dull, 'earth-like' intellect of mainlanders…primitive tribal structures…immense benefits from modern medicine and railroads… _The writing isn't bad, but the content…Azula realizes that just a year ago, she would have accepted these arguments as fact. As a child she lived and breathed Fire Nation superiority. But now, the words ring hollow. She doesn't even know when her mind changed, can't pinpoint a specific reason why she no longer believes Earth Kingdom people are inferior. But she can't believe it any more. A series of images flash through her mind: Temurin, sewing up the skin of a burnt woman; Altan, smiling shyly in the caravan firelight; Jirou, rousing a crowd with his story; Mila and Yu-chen, running a business with canny and kindness. They may not be nobles but they are…people.

_Colonial citizens are lucky that Firelord Sozin chose to share the Fire Nation's greatness. _Azula bites her lip. Her hands tremble traitorously.

"Wakaba," she says. "Do you believe this?" She holds up the essay.

"Yes?" Wakaba lies.

"No," says Azula. "Wakaba, this essay may be what Firelord Ozai wanted his officials to believe. But it's not true." Azula refuses to glance at the painting of her father, certain that he's narrowed his eyes to glare at her.

"But the manual—"

"Forget the manual," Azula says passionately. "Forget the past examinations. Zuko is the Firelord now, and I promise you his examinations won't ask you such ridiculous, biased questions. Zuko doesn't believe any of this…propaganda."

Wakaba just looks confused. "Then what does he believe? Since he's the Firelord?"

Azula thinks for a full minute. What would Zuko want his officials to consider? What does Zuko value?

She grabs a brush and dips it in a pot of ink on the table. Azula writes.

_Essay Question #1: What mistakes has the Fire Nation made in the past century? _

_Essay Question #2: How can we make it right?_


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

_Disclaimer: drug use. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! Thanks for following on this far. Also, if you like it (or don't I suppose) please leave a review!_

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly—Wakaba may be shy, but she isn't stupid. Which is a relief, since Azula can't tolerate stupid people. For Wakaba's revised essay, they decide to focus on how the Fire Nation's invasion affected Qima—a difficult task, since all Wakaba's textbooks were written in the Fire Nation. Azula's mind is reeling with the implications of her shift in point of view. She's not ready to admit _everything _the Fire Nation has done in the past hundred years has been wrong, but still…suddenly, Zuko's decision to end the war makes more sense. Azula wishes she could talk to him. Across the room, Wakaba stands on tiptoe to reach a dusty basket of scrolls on a top shelf. Azula leans back in her chair, staring out the window as the snow continues to fall peacefully. In the quiet, however, the itching need for yapian creeps in. She scratches her arm.

"…and I think my great-grandfather kept a diary?" Wakaba says. "About when Qima was first taken over by the Fire Nation?"

Normally, the diary of some Earth Kingdom clan chieftain wouldn't interest Azula in the slightest. But today, the idea of hearing a voice from the past piques her curiosity. Once, not long after her mother left, Father showed her Great-Grandfather Sozin's letters home. What if Sozin had not been the conqueror, but was instead the conquered? What would he think and feel?

"I remember my grandmother said the Fire Nation came because of our river?" Wakaba says, bringing over the basket of scrolls. She sets them on the table, and a faint haze of dust rises up with the disturbance. "They thought the Qima River would make for fertile farmland, but they were wrong?"

"Why wrong?" Azula says, picking a scroll up at random.

"Well..." Wakaba. "Because the river's floods are actually really irregular? Which makes growing crops really difficult?"

"Huh." Azula tries to unfurl a scroll, but her hands are shaking again. A physical and sudden chill makes her shudder. The need for yapian that's been tapping at the back of her brain for the past hours starts to pound in earnest. But now is not a good time, she's finally talking about something interesting…

"…and a dozen people actually _died _in the flood last year…"

"Really?" Azula shivers again, thin fingers clutching the paper. But she doesn't have any more yapian in her hut in the forest. Where can she get some? What if Temurin is out? Panic starts to rise in the back of her throat. Wakaba chatters on obliviously, unaware that at any minute Azula is going to fall apart. Mayor Sota _must _have some yapian somewhere.

"…and really it would be better if the river flowed more to the east about a half-league away…"

Azula stands abruptly. "Bathroom," she excuses herself, and jogs out of the sitting room.

"What?" Wakaba bleats. Azula ignores her and speeds into the hall.

_This is crazy. _She doesn't even know if Mayor Sota smokes yapian, or if Sota keeps her store in her house, or where. Her bedroom? Azula winds her way to the back of the mansion, her footsteps echoing on the plank floors. The house is made entirely of wood and would have been grand a hundred years ago. But the painted beams are peeling, and the ornate carvings in ceiling corners are dusty and dull. Wakaba was right—Qima clearly hasn't prospered for decades. Following nothing but instinct, Azula throws open a door, and finds an empty room, sheets covering old furniture. Not Sota's bedroom. Desperately, she tries door after door. A study. Unused bedroom. Formal dining hall. The gnawing obsession takes her over, she's sweating, entire head throbbing. She digs her nails into her own skin, drawing blood.

Azula bursts into a chamber dominated by an ancient-looking canopy bed carved with dragons. Above the bed is an ink brush painting, several meters long, depicting a landscape. Tiny ink figures fish by a river village, dashes of color illuminating a hat or a dress. But on the right side of the painting…Fire Nation ships sail down the river, decks full of soldiers, painted in stark colours of black and red and orange as they set the river afire. Only Mayor Sota is this obsessed with Fire Nation.

Praying to all the spirits that Sota is unoriginal, Azula heads straight for the bed. She lifts a mattress edge. And then another one. Nothing. Azula ransacks the nightstand, knocking over bottles of face powders and creams. _No, no, _no_. _She buries her face deeply into a pillow and screams. Wakaba is probably wondering where she is. What is her excuse for being here? Azula lies there, face in an old woman's pillow, and breathes in short panicked gasps. The earth turns beneath her feet. _I am going to die right here._

And then she smells it. The heady, sweet scent of relief. Azula feels a lump in the pillow, just under her left eye. _Please. _She rips open the pillow ravenously. Feathers fly like falling petals in spring, but all Azula cares about is the small package hiding in the snowy down. Release is so close, she can taste it…entire body shaking, Azula pinches off a small portion of the raw yapian and places it on her tongue. It dissolves into instantaneous relief.

A relaxed, golden feeling spreads from Azula's throat her torso, down to each one of her fingers and toes. She slumps onto the floor and laughs at the explosion of feathers she's created. How silly. After savouring the feeling of sleepy blankness for a moment, Azula sets about picking up each feather, rubbing the tiny little quills under her fingers. Magnificent. Many tiger-geese gave their lives for this pillow…

Hands full of feathers, Azula looks around for a place to hide the tattered remains of the pillow. There is no putting this mess back together. Fortunately, two sliding doors open to a balcony at the other end of the room; outside, the feathers can mix with the snow. Azula breezes over. She wedges her foot in between the two doors, and, with difficulty, kicks the door sideways and open. She stumbles onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard, and throws the feathers in the air with gleeful abandon. The tiger-goose feathers fly up, dissolve into the snow, then spiral down, down, down and land on dozens of red armoured shoulders.

Red armour. Azula's eyes bulge. There, in Mayor Sota's courtyard, is full company of Fire Nation soldiers.

By early evening Altan has had enough of logging in the snow. He tromps back to the house, the snow now reaching to his ankle. He'll split the wood tomorrow, then bring it into the village to sell. As he climbs the stairs to Temurin's home, he grins ironically. He bets Jinlian's husband will be his biggest customer—it takes a lot of fuel to keep a blacksmith's fire going. Altan pulls off his boots and steps inside, his wet socks squelching unpleasantly on the floor. Nekana sits on the floor, stretching out her leg, while Temurin holds a pestle slackly in one hand, clearly distracted by what Nekana is saying. Sitting at the table next to Hegane, Jirou coughs significantly and glares at Altan.

"There were at least fifty of them," Nekana says. "Which is frankly overkill for a village of this size."

"Fifty what?" Altan asks.

"Fire Nation soldiers. From the base at Taiyang," Nekana answers, not even bothering to look at him. Altan grinds his teeth.

"They are probably here to make sure the vote goes smoothly," Temurin says wearily.

"Oh please!" Jirou snaps. "A fifty Fire Nation troops here are _you're not worried?_"

"Come on, Temurin," Altan says. "Don't be so naïve."

"And _you _don't be so quick to overreact," Nekana cuts in before Temurin can respond for himself. _Why can't she take my side for once?_

"Jirou and Altan are right," Hegane adds, putting down her complicated knotwork. "We should at least ask why they are here." Nekana frowns, and Hegane shrugs. "What?" she asks bluntly. "I've lived in Qima for thirty years. I don't belong to some sort of Fire Nation club."

"Mayor Sota must have asked for extra troops to supervise the vote next week," Temurin says.

"More like rig the vote," Altan mutters, mostly to get Nekana's attention. It works.

"Oh please, not again," she says scathingly. "Zuko wouldn't order his soldiers to interfere—"

"_Spirits_, Nekana, stop talking like you know him!" Altan snaps. "It's not like you have some sort of…of…special access to information. You're just as clueless as the rest of us. So stop saying things like they're facts when they're just your opinions!" Fire flickers in Nekana's eyes.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Nekana says coldly.

"Neither do you," Altan shoots back. Bubbles of anger roil in his stomach. He knows his reaction is disproportionate to her slight, but how she dismisses him, how she refuses his help, how she sits there smugly like she knows everything when she's really just an addict…he didn't even know how angry he was until now. He and Nekana glare at each other. Her full lips curl unpleasantly.

Temurin stands and walks casually in between Nekana and Altan, breaking the heated staring contest. He's still holding a pestle, stained with bloody red beet paste. "I'll talk to some of the neighbors when I pick Haojun up from school," Temurin says. "In a _reasoned, _measured way. For all we know, the soldiers could just be passing through."

"Right," says Jirou sarcastically.

"That's it. Jirou, go outside and split some wood," Hegane orders.

"In the snow?" Jirou complains.

"Was I unclear?"

Sulkily, Jirou throws on a coat and pushes past Temurin. Altan follows him out the door. He'd rather freeze his fingers off than be around Nekana for another minute. Temurin can go be _reasoned _and _measured _all he wants. But Altan isn't going to stay idle. By unspoken agreement, Jirou waits while Altan redoes the laces on his boots, and together they crunch through the frozen grass towards the woodpile.

"So we're definitely writing to Mila and Crooked Zhao about these soldiers, right?" Jirou says. He jerks the axe out of a stump.

Altan lets his frustration with Nekana, with this town, and with his mother simmer inside him for a few seconds. It's like his own wood-fire fuel.

"Absolutely."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

_Disclaimer: drug use. My friend M really hates Jinlian, but I have a lot of sympathy for her. I hope you do, too!_

* * *

Jinlian's sheets are stained scarlet with fresh blood. Having just flung aside the blankets of her bedroll, it takes her a split second to realize what's happened. Then she closes her eyes in relief.

"Thank the spirits," she says aloud. Jinlian falls onto her back with a _thump _and stares at the ceiling. Specks of dust cling stubbornly to the rough wooden planks; no matter how many times she's beaten the ceiling with a straw broom, the dust refuses to budge. But right now, she doesn't care about the stupid ceiling, or that fact that she'll have to spend half the afternoon scrubbing the blood out of her nightdress, the sheets, and maybe the cotton bedroll. She's not pregnant. The tight bands that compressing her chest and stomach lift and for the first time in two weeks, Jinlian inhales deeply. The morning air is sharp and tinted with smoke from early morning fires starting up all over the village. _I'm not pregnant._

Jinlian wipes the water off her cheeks before it can trickle into her ears. To her surprise, her relief is edged with sadness. A letdown. Only to be expected, she supposes. The last time she thought she was pregnant, she _was_. With Haojun. And the expectant hope she felt before Haojun couldn't be more different than the horror that has weighed her down for the past weeks. Temurin had been so happy then. Angrily, Jinlian wipes away more tears and turns to her side. This is _his _fault. But immediately her own judgment fills her with nausea. Temurin may have abandoned her first, but she takes the prize for the most effective self-sabotage of all time.

This is where it stops, though. Jinlian clasps a hand over her mouth to muffle her shuddering breaths. The air outside the blankets is frigid, but the sharp pain feels good as Jinlian tries and fails to steady her breathing. Having another man's child would have the side effect of hurting Temurin, but she can't do it. It's not worth it. She loves Haojun with her every breath, but she can't have another now. Or maybe ever. Although that's not fair to Guo.

For the first time, Jinlian turns and looks at the broad back of the man who sleeps beside her. Guo's massive shoulders rise and fall peacefully, the muscles of his back distinct even when relaxed. He didn't know she was late, of course. Despite her tangle of emotions—or maybe because of them—Jinlian feels a familiar heat as she traces Guo's outline with her eyes. But that heat has caused her a lot of trouble.

Trying not to disturb her husband, Jinlian carefully rolls off the mattress and tiptoes out of the main room into the side kitchen. She'll have to warm some water so she can wash herself. Shivering, she shrugs on a grey padded sweater and house slippers and shoves a rag into her stained sleeping pants. She crouches to start the stove fire. Winters like this always remind her of being on the road with Temurin and how she always had to start the campfires. She smiles wryly. She's never met a man so inept at managing a fire. With one motion, Jinlian strikes the firestone: the spark jumps. The kindling lights up.

She watches the blaze in the grey morning stillness, settling herself on a low stool that brings her legs up to a fetal position. She rests her chin on her knees as the fire slowly spreads from kindling to wood. This pregnancy scare was too close. If she's going to continue on, she needs to stop being so reckless. Enough spiralling. For five years, Jinlian has felt like her life has been slipping out of her grasp, left behind with a child just like her mother, dreams fading as mediocrity took over. And once those dreams slipped away, it was so easy to just let go of everything else too, and to just do whatever she wanted, wild and free as the flames that jump across the wood. But no more. She can't let her recklessness bring a child into this world. Which means she'll have to change. When she was with Temurin, he made her some sort of tea—she can't remember which combination of herbs, precisely—that ensured she wouldn't get pregnant. She'll just have to swallow her pride and ask Temurin how to make it.

To her frustration, fresh tears trail down her face, hot at first but turning cold as they drip down her chin. Jinlian doesn't cry often, but when she does it's often hard to stop. _Pull yourself together_. Temurin will be so disappointed and professional..

"You should have woken me." Guo looms in the doorframe, wearing only a pair of thin cotton pants. Quickly, Jinlian rubs her face on her sleeve and hopes her face isn't too red.

"How are you not cold?" she asks, trying to speak without her voice sounding too watery.

Guo shrugs. He's not a chatty person-unlike Temurin. A lot more comfortable walking around half-naked than Temurin was, too. Flushing slightly, Jinlian waits with dread for Guo to comment on the red-stained sheets, which truly look like someone's been murdered in their bed. But instead, Guo wordlessly grabs his coat and drapes it over his bare torso. He kicks on his boots and crunches out to his blacksmith's shop; soon Jinlian hears the rattle of metal tongs as Guo starts up his forge fire. He's just going to start the day and pretend nothing happened.

Well. She guesses this is it. A life of wordless exchanges and cold mornings. What an amazing choice she's made.

Dully, Jinlian trudges back to the bedroom and slowly strips the bloody sheets off the bedroll. _At least I'm not pregnant_, she reminds herself. That's one good thing. And she's picking Haojun up for school today. That's another good thing. Outside, the sky has brightened considerably, but it's still unspeakably cold.

Jinlian hears the back door bang open like Guo kicked it in. "What the hell?" she shouts, not caring if the neighbours hear. Is he an actual idiot? She storms into the side kitchen, where Guo stands sheepishly, holding an enormously heavy basin full of steaming water. His coat flaps open, and either sweat or condensed steam trickles down his chest. Carefully, he sets the deep basin on the floor.

"What is this?" Jinlian asks, flustered.

"A hot bath," he says with a nervous smile. And just as quickly as he came, he disappears back to the forge.

Jinlian spends the rest of the day as she usually does: cleaning, cooking, and people-watching. Today, however, she does it with a slight smile. She perches herself on a chair outside Guo's house so she has good view of the road and the forge and brings along a large pot of rooster-pork bao filling and the dough she set out last night. At first, her fingers quickly grow cold as she rolls out the dough and fills the bao. But as the morning sun rises, the snow starts to melt and Jinlian's fingers thaw. Muddy puddles form in the road outside Guo's forge, and children splash through the mud on their way to school. Jinlian always hopes Temurin will relent and take this road with Haojun, but he never does. Jinlian aggressively twists the top of the next bao shut. Then, using some extra dough, she forms a miniature rooster-pig snout and crest. She tilts the snout up to make it smug, just like her ex-husband. After some thought, she squishes the bao so it looks thin and pinched, too. She sets the Temurin-bao next to the Guo-bao she just finished, which is twice the size of a normal bao. It's petty, but Jinlian snickers to herself nonetheless. It's good to seize on simple pleasures.

Less funny are the Fire Nation troops that pass by on their morning march. Guo sets down his hammer to stare at the soldiers, and Jinlian too lets her hands grow still. For the past week, over fifty troops have milled around, not doing much, pretending to be there for "security" reasons before the vote. But Qima is such a small village. Why are they here? Unless Mayor Sota asked for them especially…Guo turns and gives Jinlian an ominous look after the soldiers pass. Almost threatening, he picks up his hammer and starts back to work. The villagers who pass by keep their heads down, whispering and stiff.

Despite the tension that lingers in the air, customers still stop to talk to Guo as they always do—mostly female customers, but some male as well. Jinlian used to be one of those customers. Before she escalated things and set her life on fire. Three young women linger around Guo's forge—probably allured by the fact that Guo has unseasonably switched to a thin undershirt—and Jinlian translates the girls three fat little rooster-pig bao with rosy cheeks and big eyes. She'll eat them later. But one young woman who doesn't stop is Temurin's twitchy friend, the firebender with big eyes and skinny limbs who took a dip in the river. Nekana. Like she does most mornings, Temurin's friend irritably powers down the road, not caring if she splashes anyone with mud. Jinlian narrows her eyes. After the dinner she had with Temurin and his bizarre friends, she's been trying to figure out where on earth Temurin found this strange woman. She's clearly Fire Nation. And even though she claims to be married to Temurin's clueless other friend—Alvin?—there's something between her and Temurin that Jinlian doesn't quite like. Not that it's any of her business anymore. Jinlian fashions a small bao with crazy, swirly eyes.

Morning turns to noon, and the bustle slows down. The troops return from their walk, still marching in formation, and Jinlian goes inside to steam the baos for lunch. As she emerges, she sees Temurin's tall male friend speaking seriously to Guo. The young man places a hand on Guo's shoulder, head lowered. What are they talking about? Jinlian plasters a smile on her face and darts in with a plate of bao.

"…be ready tonight," Alvin finishes. If that's his name.

"We'll think on it," Guo replies. Tall Alvin nods, determined, and stalks away.

"Think on what?" Jinlian asks Guo.

"Trouble." Guo grabs the Nekana-bao and gazes at it appreciatively. "Nice eyes." He swallows it whole.

"Thanks. What kind of trouble?" Jinlian insists. Guo places both hands on her waist and draws her close. His hands are big enough to encircle her, and he smells of sweat and smoke. But now is no time to get distracted.

"Earth Kingdom soldiers. Arriving tonight," he says even more quietly than usual.

"What?" Jinlian whispers, horrified. "Are they here to fight the Fire Nation garrison?"

Guo shrugs.

"But the war's over!" Jinlian seethes. The Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom will never stop fighting, spirits curse them. "This is why we need to be independent," she says. To her surprise, Guo nods.

"I agree," he says. "Both armies should go." He grabs the Temurin-bao and bites off its face. It's funny. Guo and Temurin couldn't be more different. But on this topic Jinlian bets they agree.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Content warning: drug use.

_Hello all! Happy New Year! I've finished writing the story and am now editing before posting…let me know in the review section if you want some more chapters by this weekend. Thank you for your support!_

"Make sure you keep that bite dry!" Temurin reminds his patient. Leaning against a wooden porch beam, Temurin lifts a hand in farewell as the young man departs for home. The afternoon sunlight sparkles brightly off piles of melting snow, forcing Temurin to squint at the figure retreating down the road. The day is open and still. Aside from the steady drip, drip of snow melting off the roof, all is quiet. Temurin rests his head against the wall and inhales. _In and out. _The air is cold and fresh, burning his nostrils. The melting world all around him seems so peaceful: if he closes his eyes and listens, he can even hear the faint roar of the Qima river. He remembers diving into those deep, chaotic waters as a boy—losing himself in the rush, immersed in the strange, silent underwater world. How long has it been since he last swam there? Back then, the underwater quiet let him imagine the adventures he could have, the places he could visit, the things he could do.

Now, the silence only allows his doubts and fears to bubble to the forefront of his mind. Should he continue to travel when the winter's over? Or should he stay? The thought of remaining in Qima, being trapped in the same town where he was humiliated, fills him with nausea. Seeing Jinlian and her lover every day…impossible. Temurin slides down the wall and sits down heavily. But being separated from Haojun forever? Even more impossible. A bird calls from the nearby forest: a lonely, single cry. As a boy, he always wanted to leave Qima. But it seems that destiny has brought him inexorably back.

Slumped on his childhood porch, Temurin tries to examine the broken fragments of his life. His failed marriage, his daughter, and his mother all tie him to Qima. Yet other threads tug him away from here: Jirou's medical training, the people who depend on his visits for medical care, and his dangerous and uneasy alliance with Zhao and Mila. After a week without hearing from them, perhaps Zhao has forgotten him. Perhaps Mila told Zhao that Temurin isn't interested in revolution. Or perhaps Zhao is biding her time, and will kill him in his sleep for not spying on Mayor Sota. Who knows. The thought of his impending death though, brings to mind two more pieces of his life that Temurin can't quite make sense of. Nekana and Altan. Altan is sticking around because of Nekana; that much is obvious. But why is Nekana still here? She doesn't have anything to do—except teach Wakaba-until he moves on. One hopeful motivation pops into his head, but Temurin quickly crushes the idea. Then, guiltily, he realizes that with all the chaos and turmoil of moving back home, dealing with Jinlian, and trying to regain Haojun's trust, he hasn't spoken to Nekana alone in weeks. Every time he sees her, she's been distant and vague. _Why is she staying?_

Temurin rises and prowls back inside. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the comparative darkness, purple swirling before his eyes. To be honest, ever since his…dream about Nekana, he's avoided her. His life is already too complicated. And there are important things to do. Like the laundry. Grabbing a woven basket, Temurin slides open the door to the mens' bedroom, where sure enough, Altan and Jirou have left a pile of dirty clothing in the corner of the mat floor. Temurin throws the clothes in the basket and heads into the next room. Nekana too has carelessly left her clothes on top of her folded bedroll, probably assuming someone will wash it for her. _That's so like her. _Temurin leans over to snatch her olive-green shirt off the floor, but as he does so, a faint but familiar scent catches his attention. _Is that…_

He holds the shirt in his hands and, numbly, inhales deeply. The sickly-sweet scent of yapian is unmistakable. And, with a dawning sense of horror, he realizes. There's only one reason why Nekana's clothes would reek of yapian.

The front door slides open with a soft _bang_.

"Temurin?" Nekana's voice floats in from the back of the house.

Slowly, as if in a nightmare, Temurin stands, Nekana's shirt held limply in his hand.

"Kana."

She appears in the door frame, and in a single rush Temurin sees all the things he'd been blind to: her too-thin wrists, the gaunt sharpness of her jaw, and her haunting, hollow golden eyes.

This is all his fault.

"What's wrong?" Nekana asks, stepping forward. She reaches one hand out. Touches his shoulder with thin fingers. _What have I done?_

"I—" Temurin lifts Nekana's shirt helplessly. "I found this."

"You found my shirt," Nekana says blankly. "Well yes, I live here."

"Nekana, I know," Temurin blurts out. Instantly, her eyes narrow. Nekana takes a sharp step backwards, raising her hands in a defensive position.

"Know what?" she says quietly. Her gold eyes glimmer over her clenched fists. Does she think he would hurt her? Temurin's heart clenches.

"Nekana, I'm sorry," he says painfully. "It's my fault you've been using yapian, if I hadn't—"

"If you hadn't been a drug dealer, I would have never tried it?" Nekana laughs. But for some reason, she looks relieved, and she lowers her hands. "I'm not your daughter, Temurin. You're not responsible for my choices. Stop making this about yourself."

Temurin steps back like she slapped him. "What are you talking about?" he demands.

"Oh please. You're so self-obsessed that you don't even notice what happens in your own home. How long did it take you to realize Jinlian was cheating? Or that I've been smoking yapian?" She snorts. "No wonder Jinlian left. You're a selfish, self-absorbed child, so obsessed with money you never considered how selling illegal drugs would affect the people around you."

"Enough," Temurin says harshly.

"Did you know Haojun wants to live with her mother?" Nekana continues. "She wishes you never came back—"

"I said, enough!" Temurin shouts. "This isn't about me! This is about you!"

"Oh, so now are you going to tell me how _disappointed _you are?" Nekana says, raising her voice. "How much I'm _wasting _my abilities?" She clutches her heart. "Oh no, if _you _don't approve of me, what will I do?"

"You're right, I don't approve!" Temurin yells. "Someone I love is killing herself, how could I be okay with that?" He breathes heavily. Losing his temper won't help her. "I'm a doctor. Let me fix this!"

"Fix this? Fix _me_, you mean?" Nekana laughs bitterly. She approaches so she's barely a foot away from. "Men are _always _trying to fix me!"

"Well maybe if you accepted help, you wouldn't be here!"

"One man's _help _resulted in me rotting in an insane asylum for a _year_!" Nekana yells up into his face.

"Well I'm not him! So let me in!" Temurin takes a step forward, and Nekana slams her hand into his chest. He flies through the paper wall into the main living room and hits his head hard on the tatami floor. All the wind is knocked out of him, and he sees Nekana through the torn wall, her face swimming amongst stars. Her expression is horrified, her shock matching his own. _She hit me. _Panic courses through his veins. But without air he can only gasp helplessly as Nekana runs to his side. _She _hit _me!_

"Temurin—I'm sorry-" Nekana says desperately, kneeling down next to him. Is she crying? Temurin can't tell, everything is swirling. She pulls him upright so he's leaning with his back against her chest, and with a rattling gasp Temurin inhales his first precious breath of air.

"I'm sorry—"

"Temurin?" Altan's voice filters in from outside. "Temurin, what was that?"

Nekana's head snaps up like a cornered animal. Pausing only to lower him carefully to the floor, Nekana jumps up and escapes through the back kitchen door. As the edge of her army coat disappears around the corner, Altan barges into the house. Temurin drags himself to his hands and knees.

"Temurin!"

"Nekana," Temurin wheezes. "Altan…follow her."

"What?" Altan crouches in front of Temurin, looking more confused than ever. For some reason, he's wearing the green uniform of an Earth Kingdom soldier.

"Nekana is using-yapian," Temurin pants. "I found out. We fought. My fault. You need to find her…"

Altan sits back on his heels. "Now isn't a good time," he says coldly, not showing a hint of surprise at the news that his pretend-wife is poisoning herself. For the second time in half an hour, realization washes over Temurin like icy river water.

"You knew," he says hoarsely.

"I can't deal with this right now," Altan says. "Bigger things are happening."

"What?" Temurin snaps. "Altan, you bastard, she's upset and is probably on her way to use! You're supposed to love her-go find her, _now_!"

"I really—"

"_Now!" _Temurin fills with a rage he's only felt once before. What is wrong with Altan? What is wrong with everyone? "She ran out the kitchen door. Find her!"

Scowling, Altan obeys and hurries to the door. It's only when the younger man turns around that Temurin notices the broadsword strapped to Altan's back.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Content warning: drug use.

Tears streaming down her face, Azula skids to a halt in front of her yapian hut. She leans against the rough bark of a tree, catching her breath in great shuddering gasps. Pine sap sticks to her palm. _It could be worse_. At least she didn't kill anyone. But then she remembers the look of terror and betrayal on Temurin's face as he flew through the air. Disappointment, pain, fear…when was the last time she actually hurt a friend? She truly is a monster.

Only one thing can ease the chaos of her emotions. Azula falls to her knees, not caring that the slushy mud soaks through to her skin. Her hands shake. She opens the pouch of yapian she stole from Mayor Sota. In an instant, its sweetness is on her tongue, and she closes her eyes to let the golden throb begin. Guilt sweeps away with the tide.

"I thought I'd find you here." Altan's voice floats in through her serene coma. "Temurin was worried about you, so he made me follow."

"Sweet of him," Azula says, trying as hard as she can to be caustic. But through the haze the words come out with a giggle. She opens her eyes to see Altan's blurry figure standing over her.

"Yes, you would think so, wouldn't you?" Altan says implacably. "Get up, Nekana. I need to ask you something."

"No."

Nekana is sprawled on the ground, back against a tree, with a characteristically dreamy look on her face. Bits of leaves and twigs cling in her hair, and her face is streaked with dirt and tears. She's never been this upset when she's fought with him. Gritting his teeth, Altan kneels beside her, turning her jaw towards him with one hand. If he's wasting time being here instead of getting back to Mila and her troops, he might as well make us of the detour. He stares into Nekana's cloudy eyes. "Nekana, this is serious. We're attacking the Fire Nation garrison in less than an hour."

Nekana chuckles, eyes half-lidded. "You? Attack something?"

"It's not a joke, Nekana!" Altan snaps. "The Qima vote for independence is obviously rigged by Mayor Sota. So some loyalists and I are taking things into our own hands."

Nekana squints like she's trying hard to focus on Altan's face. Disgusted, Altan lets go of her face. She's too high to be of any use. Once he would have stayed to make sure she gets over this dosage, but not anymore. He turns to leave.

"You'll never beat Zuko," Nekana says unexpectedly. "He's strong now, thanks to me." She whimpers slightly. "But he's alone. Or…I'm alone."

"What do you mean, 'Zuko is strong thanks to you'?" Altan says slowly.

Nekana shakes her head, still distressed.

"Do you know the Firelord?" Altan demands. He kneels back down and grasps her shoulders. "Answer me!"

"Don't ask, I won't tell," Nekana says sleepily.

"Were you a palace servant? A soldier?" Altan tightens his hands to prevent them from shaking. "Did you work for the Firelord?" This could be the entrance he needs, information to take back to Ba Sing Se, to bring to his mother…

"You think I was a _commoner?_" sneers Nekana, seeming more awake. "Let me tell you, darling, there is not a drop of peasant blood in my veins."

"Then how do you know the Firelord?" Altan hears his own voice quiver, not sure he wants to keep pushing, but drawn inexorably deeper and deeper into Nekana's drug-induced confession.

Nekana straightens with foggy pride. "I grew up with Zuko, fought with him, and brought the walls of Ba Sing Se to the ground with him. I know the Firelord because I loved him."

"You…loved him?" Altan says. Images and ideas are chasing through his head: Nekana in scarlet robes, standing beside the Firelord, embracing him, fire pouring from her hands, a child in a desert town screaming… "Who _are _you?"

"I am Azula."

As soon as she says her name, the strange, heady confidence that was driving her melts away. She's empty, completely empty. Just like Altan's face. For so long she's dreaded this moment, grown nauseated at the thought of her friends knowing who she truly is…and now the time has come she can only wait. For one glorious second, Altan doesn't react, and she imagines him embracing her, saying it's alright, she was stupid to worry.

"You're a monster," Altan says. He lets go of her like she's turned white-hot. "You're a mass murderer! You've killed _thousands of innocent people._"

"Personally? Only a few dozen," Azula corrects him dully.

"I _kissed _you," Altan says in disgust. "We—" He breaks off. Gags. And vomits onto muddy, mossy forest floor. "You shouldn't be alive," he says weakly after a few seconds.

"I know." Azula leans back against the tree. She had imagined the horrible things Altan or Temurin could say if they found out. But somehow this is worse. Remarkable. She didn't think she could feel more broken than she did the night Zuko locked her away. But the spirits keep showing her new lows. And now, after all her travels in the Colonies, she is aware that she deserves everything Altan can throw at her and more. She feels very cold.

"What are you doing here?" Altan asks, wiping sick off his lips with the back of his hand. "What kind of-evil scheme brings you to Qima?" The pine forest is silent and half-frozen. Waiting.

"No scheme," Azula admits. "I'm just trying to stay away from Zuko. To protect him."

"Because you love him," Altan says. There's that look again: pure revulsion. "I thought I loved _you._"

Another stab wound. But at some point, she has to stop feeling pain. "Are you going to try to kill me?" Azula asks. He _did _bring a very large sword.

Altan pauses. He's actually thinking about it. And Azula doesn't even know what she wants him to decide. Maybe it is time for her to go. She meets his soft brown eyes. They were happy for a short time, at least. They were friends.

"Just stay out of Qima," Altan says. "Leave here. Whatever you're planning, don't try it. Qima will be part of the Earth Kingdom by tonight." He pauses, and then his words tumble out in a rush. "And if you had any conscience…you'd throw yourself in the river."

He leaves. Pine needles crunch beneath his feet, and Azula watches him go. So pretty, even now.

Ursa shakes her head in disapproval from behind the tree, where she's been watching. "That boy is going to get himself killed," she sighs.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Altan almost drowned the first time he saw a lake. The water was cool and dark, gurgling out from a crack in the cave wall and pooling into a cavernous underground lake: marvellous and strange for a boy who lived in the desert. He slipped. As he sank slowly into black water, struggling to breathe and panicking as the darkness filled his lungs, Altan remembers feeling completely awake, awake but dying.

Altan feels that same waking death now. Everything feels wrong, everything is upturned. The burn in his thighs as he runs can't begin to dull the ripping realization that threatens to tear him apart. Mud splashes his borrowed Earth Kingdom robes as he runs. The green stains brown with filth, but Altan doesn't care. He was so wrong. He was so stupid, so blind, blinded by Nekana's curving lips and soft skin and slender hands. Altan's stomach turns again. Oh spirits, how much blood is on those hands?

He can't look back. Gasping for breath in short, panicked inhalations, he stops in the middle of the road. His boots stick in icy mud. Straight ahead is the town, where Earth Kingdom loyalists are waiting for him to order the march on Mayor Sota's mansion. But to the right sits Temurin's house, perched on the top of a small hill. Smoke billows innocently from the side kitchen.

Does Temurin know? Altan's hands shake. He tucks his hair behind his ears, trying to think, trying to remain calm. Temurin and Nekana—Azula—were together before he joined them. They've always had a bond he doesn't understand, one that's made his blood boil. Is everyone he knows a traitor?

Without consciously making the choice to climb the hill, Altan finds himself at Temurin's door, banging on the wood with a muddy fist.

"Let me in, Temurin!" he yells. The door slides open, revealing the short, slender doctor, his face pale. For the first time, Altan realizes how small Temurin really is.

"Where is she?" Temurin demands. He peers behind Altan, looking for Azula, then seems to realize the flush in Altan's cheeks. He focuses on Altan's shaking hands.

"Altan, what have you done with her?" Temurin asks slowly.

A fire sweeps through Altan's chest, burning away his guilt and replacing it with something much stronger.

"What have I done?" he trembles. "I haven't done enough!"

With his left hand, Altan grabs Temurin by the front of his red collared tunic, dragging him into the center of the main room. "Do you know what she is?"

"Put down your sword, Altan," Temurin says calmly.

_My sword? _To his surprise, Altan finds his blade in his right hand, its tip pointed at Temurin's throat. No wonder Temurin's treating him with more respect. The feeling is oddly satisfying. Stepping back, he releases Temurin and lowers his blade so it points at Temurin's chest.

"Tell me, do you know what Nekana is?"

"A firebender?" Temurin clutches his side and leans against the wall weakly. Of course. Nekana injured him before she ran away. A fight among co-conspirators?

"A monster," Altan spits. He presses his blade lightly against Temurin's sternum.

"Altan, I don't know what you're talking about," Temurin says, talking as if to a slow child. "But put down your sword, and we can work it out—"

"Don't lie to me!" Altan seethes. He's heard nothing but lies for months. "Did the Firelord send you too?"

"What?" Temurin tries to take a step forward, but Altan flicks his sword to Temurin's neck and the doctor freezes.

"You're telling me you know nothing," Altan snarls. "You don't know that Nekana was sent by the Firelord. You don't know who she is."

"No, I don't!" Temurin says. "Altan, I swear by the spirits, I have no idea what is going on." His green eyes are earnest and a little afraid. For the first time, Altan feels guilty. But he has to be sure. He steels himself.

"Nekana is Princess Azula," Altan says baldly. Temurin's face twists.

"What?"

"The woman you let into your home brought down the walls of Ba Sing Se. She's razed cities, she's killed children. She's-she's—"

"Saved our lives," Temurin says weakly. Ignoring Altan's sword, Temurin sinks to the floor, head in his hands.

Altan's lip curls in pity. Finally, someone else is the weak one. But if Temurin isn't Azula's accomplice, he is no longer relevant.

Altan has work to do.

Leaving the older man on the floor, Altan sheathes his sword and heads out the door and around the back. He's wasted enough time already.

"What are you doing?" Temurin staggers behind him, one hand to his ribs.

Without looking back, Altan untethers the rooster-horse from its stake and loops the rope around its neck. Grabbing its mane, a mix of hair and feathers, Altan swings himself onto the rooster-horse's back and looks down at the doctor.

"Stay home, Temurin," Altan says. "Today, the Earth Kingdom will liberate this town. And then we'll take care of Azula." He digs his heels into the rooster-horse, kicking it forward.

"Wait!" Temurin yells as Altan passes him. He grabs the lead rope, dragging down the rooster-horse's head and meeting Altan's eyes.

"Take me with you."

Azula lets her head fall back against the pine tree, the bark pricking against the back of her skull. Altan is gone, off to kill some Fire Nation people. And then maybe come back for her.

"Aren't you going to go after him?" Ursa folds her robes neatly and sits next to Azula. Usually, Azula would tell her mother to go away, but Azula can't bear to be alone. Even if her companion is a figment of her broken mind.

"Why would I follow him, Mother?" Azula says. "He hates me. He wants to kill me." The forest is silent except for the drip of snow melting off pine needles. If she stays here long enough, will the forest absorb her? Will she just become part of this tree, or the soil? Or perhaps her maddened spirit will haunt these woods forever, and Temurin will bring Haojun here to listen to Azula howling in the treetops.

"You could follow him to protect him," Ursa says. "Or to protect Temurin. Or Haojun."

Azula laughs. "Mother, you don't know me at all."

"You protected Zuko."

"The last time I tried to be Azula and help people, the _Avatar himself _showed up and told me to get out." Azula laughs again, with even less humor. "Don't you think that's a sign that I should just disappear?"

"Then don't be Azula," Ursa says. "Be Nekana."

The golden haze of yapian is fading. As it does, the crush of Altan's rejection presses down even more heavily. She said she would never try to be Princess Azula again.

"Don't go to Qima to take control," Ursa pleads. "Don't even go to be a hero. Go to save the people you love."

Azula is silent. In a clash between Earth Kingdom rebels and Mayor Sota's Fire Nation troops, the town _is _in danger. She thinks of Temurin. If Haojun dies, and Azula could have stopped it…she won't be able to look him in the eye. He doesn't deserve that much pain.

"Altan still wants me dead," Azula says with difficulty. "How can I save someone who wants to hurt me? How can I even face him?"

"Don't let your fear of rejection prevent you from doing what you know is right." Ursa stands.

"I'm not afraid," Azula says. She stands shakily, bracing herself against the tree.

"I was afraid," Ursa says. "And because I feared Ozai, I abandoned you." Her eyes fill with tears. "Don't let fear rule your life like I let fear rule mine."

Azula looks at her mother, and for the first time in years, doesn't see a monster. She sees a woman doing the best she can. Even as a hallucination.

"I am afraid," Azula whispers. "Altan's probably told everyone by now. Everyone will look at me and know what I've done."

"What you've done is in the past." Ursa touches Azula's cheek with gentle, ghostlike fingers. "Zuko forgave you. It's time you forgive yourself."

Azula shakes her head. Forgiveness? It's a word that still makes no sense to her. Only a mile away are Temurin and Altan, who rightfully hate her.

But who need her all the same.

When Azula looks up, Ursa is already gone, melting into the silent pines.

Azula runs. Across the mossy bridge, down the path to Temurin's house, up the hill to his door…it's as if the spirits have given her a fleetness of foot that exceeds her normal abilities. Or perhaps it's a bad sign that she feels nothing.

She bursts through Temurin's door, calling his name. Books and pottery scatter the floor, the aftermath of her most recent attack. Azula winces at the gaping hole in the rice-paper wall. Her fault. But the house is empty, and the rooster-horse is gone.

A bell clangs frantically in Qima, echoing up the hill and drifting through the window. Azula hurries back to the front door to see smoke rising from the village. Altan and Temurin must be down there.

It doesn't matter who they are fighting for. It doesn't matter if they hate her. All that matters is that she keeps them alive.

Azula runs down the hill toward the village, ready to enter the fray.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30 **

_A big thank you to everyone who has followed along thus far! A round of applause goes to Mogor, my most enthusiastic and consistent reviewer._

* * *

Another blast of rock blows through the wall, and Haojun whimpers from her spot under the table. Chunks of earth and wood clatter to the floor.

"It's all right," Jinlian says with a calmness she doesn't feel. She presses herself back against the wall just to the side of the window, then, leaning out slightly, peers out into the street.

Outside is chaos. Dust from rock and rubble swirls up from the road, and periodic blasts of fire add smoke to the cloud. Through the haze Jinlian sees two dozen Fire Nation soldiers standing in battle formation across the road. Their two firebenders stand in the back, protected by a shield wall, and send balls of fire arching over the soldiers. As Jinlian watches, fire crashes down towards the Earth Kingdom troops but is blocked when an earthbender raises a wall of stone. The fire scorches the barrier, then dissipates with a hiss. A blaze springs up in a house three doors down from where Jinlian and Haojun hide in Guo's home. The other soldiers must be fighting house-to-house. Another explosion rattles the walls, and Jinlian snaps away from the window.

They are destroying Qima. And as much as Jinlian hated Temurin's hometown when she arrived five years ago, it still fills her with fury as she peeks out again at the battling Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom soldiers. This is not their town. Neither of the armies knows Qima or cares.

Which is why Guo is out there right now.

Jinlian glances at the rooftops. Would Guo and the others attack from there? Almost as soon as the Earth Kingdom troops attacked, a neighbour had pounded at their door, yelling for Guo.

"It's happening," the messenger had gasped. "She needs everyone who can fight to join her at the town square, now."

Guo had nodded. They planned for this. Wordlessly, he kissed Jinlian good-bye, and placed his large hand on Haojun's head, her skull fitting in the palm of his hand. And then he was gone, and Jinlian was left to wait.

Once again Jinlian peeks out the window. The Earth Kingdom troops are pressing forward, led by that skinny Alvin who lives with Temurin. Damn Temurin for his poor judgment. The boy waves a broadsword and yells, but Jinlian can't make out the words.

The door crashes open. With a thrill of terror, Jinlian whirls, throwing herself in front of the table and raising her knife. The man wears a bandana around his nose and mouth, but almost instantly, Jinlian lowers her knife.

Only one person has eyes that green.

Temurin pulls down his bandana and slams the door shut. Then, as if Jinlian isn't there, he kneels and pulls Haojun into a tight embrace.

"Oh sweetheart," he gasps. "Oh spirits I was so worried." He kisses the top of her head, holding her so close Jinlian fears he'll strangle her. But Haojun clutches at him gratefully. Jinlian's throat constricts.

"Guo and a band of villagers are trying to protect the town," Jinlian says, kneeling next to Temurin. She rubs Haojun's back comfortingly. "I don't know where they are now, but they're trying to keep the fighting in the street and away from the homes."

"I know," Temurin says. "I ran into a group of them."

"Where have you been?"

Temurin glances at Haojun. "Pulling the dead and wounded out of the line of fire," he says. "And trying to get to you."

He looks right at her, his eyes steely.

"Jinlian, you and Haojun have to get out of here. The entire town could burn down."

"I told Guo I'd stay here," Jinlian says quietly.

"Well, I'm sure he'd understand." Temurin stands, setting Haojun on her feet. "Go to my house. It's far out enough that you should be safe." He grabs Haojun's hand and leads them towards the back gate. Jinlian has no choice but to follow. The sound of explosions fades, but Jinlian grips her knife tightly as they run into the alley behind Guo's home.

"Have you seen Jirou?" Temurin asks darkly, still holding Haojun's hand.

"No."

They run behind a neighbor's house. The street is still clouded with floating dirt. Smoke burns Jinlian's nose, and someone screams in pain.

"And what about my mother? She was in town when this all started."

"She's leading the resistance," Jinlian gasps as they run.

Temurin stops abruptly, then ducks behind a low fence. "She's fighting?" he says, disbelieving.

"No. But she's in charge." Before he can ask, Jinlian continues. "She didn't want you to try to stop her."

"I don't-is everyone a liar?" Temurin shakes his head. Jinlian's stomach twists. Is he referring to her? Now?

His face softening, Temurin addresses Haojun.

"Sweetheart, you and Mama are going to run home, really fast," he says. "Just be quiet and obey what she says and you'll be fine."

"Are you coming?" Haojun asks. Her face is covered with dust, but there are no tear tracks to show she's been crying. She's always been a brave one.

"No, honey. I'm a doctor, and that means I have to go fix people." Temurin pulls the bandana back up over his nose.

"Run behind the houses until you reach my place," he commands Jinlian. "It might be a good idea to hide in the forest." Crouching, he starts to make his way back to the main battle.

"Temurin!"

Jinlian's mouth is dry. Those green eyes, they can't go dull.

"Be careful," she says. "And please…look out for Guo."

"I will," he promises.

His face is covered, so she can't read his expression. But the tenor of his voice is gentler than she's heard in a year. It's almost like forgiveness.

Wiping away the moisture on her cheeks, Jinlian grabs Haojun's hand.

"Ready?" she asks, trying to smile. Haojun nods.

They run.

They sneak behind homes, Jinlian crouching in half. Now and again, she sees a neighbor heading into battle, armed with a rake or a shovel. It kills her to not be joining them. But she can't leave Haojun on her own. Not after everything she's put her own daughter through.

The firelight reflects off particles of dirt in the air, illuminating the billows of dust like pillars of glowing clouds. Even though they are running away from the center of the fighting, the smoke is still thick. Stone and fire fly through the air; some Earth Kingdom troops have taken over the bottom floor of the general store.

Jinlian pulls Haojun to a stop. They'll need to cross the street to take a side road to Temurin's house. She can't see the dirt path through the swirling black smoke, but she knows it's there. The Fire Nation soldiers are busy throwing balls of fire at the besieged Earth Kingdom troops. They'll have to make a run for it.

"Go!" Jinlian gasps. Haojun's hand firmly in her own, Jinlian sprints towards the road. But as they run the smoke clears, slinking to the ground like a spirit-snake, and reveals a slender figure.

It's Jirou. He stands in the middle of the road, shell-shocked, watching the firebenders set the general store on fire. His hands and face are black with soot. His green eyes, so like Temurin's, are wide. Even though he's taller than Jinlian he looks like a little lost boy.

"Jirou. Come with us," Jinlian says hoarsely, still clutching Haojun's hand. He doesn't respond. He doesn't seem to hear her. They are completely exposed, completely unprotected. Jinlian grabs her nephew's smoke-streaked hand.

"Come with us. It's going to be okay," she says desperately.

"My patient is dead," Jirou says.

Jinlian doesn't know who he's talking about and she doesn't care. She grips Jirou's forearm and pulls him off the road, jogging to the side road. Only when the firebenders are out of sight does she stop. Haojun looks frightened but not panicked. Jirou addresses Jinlian, looking confused.

"My patient. The one with a rabbit-dog bite. She's dead. I prescribed honey and-"

"Don't think about her. We have to get to Temurin's house," Jinlian says. Jirou can have a mental breakdown later. She glances around a corner, still holding each child by a hand.

"It's clear. _Run!" _

They're about to pass the last few shops when, with a scream and a crash, a woman bursts through a door and lands in the street. She hits the ground hard, a sword still in her hand, and struggles to regain her footing. Jinlian freezes. From her green attire, she's probably Earth Kingdom. The suspicion is confirmed when a helmeted Fire Nation soldier strides through the shattered door. Jinlian pulls Haojun and Jirou to the side of the house, but it's too late. With a roar, the soldier hefts a spear and rams it through the Earth Kingdom woman's throat. Blood spurts from the wound, so much blood, Jinlian didn't know people had that much inside them. She can't look away.

Haojun screams.

The soldier turns to them, jerking the spear out of the corpse. He advances.

"Run!" Jinlian yells. She pushes Haojun and Jirou down the road and faces the soldier. Haojun's so little, surely not even a soldier would hunt her down?

"We're just villagers," she shouts, raising her small blade as he barrels towards her.

He ignores her, eyes mad with bloodlust, and she lashes out at his torso with her knife. She misses, the kitchen knife bouncing off his armored shoulder, and he backhands her across the face.

Hitting the dust hard, Jinlian sees stars. Blinking up blearily, she sees Haojun desperately tugging at Jirou's hand; the teenager is staring at the still-bleeding body of the Earth Kingdom soldier. _Run_, Jinlian thinks_. _The longer she fights, the longer Haojun and Jirou have.

An iron hand grasps the back of her dress and flips her over. She screams.

And then, with a flash of blue, the pressure releases. Jinlian struggles to a sitting position, and fights back bile at the sight of the Fire Nation soldier, face and armor charred to black and red.

Nekana stands over the body, her gaunt frame crackling with power like a skeletal spirit of the afterlife. Her eyes are cloudy and slightly unfocused as she stares at what she's done. Jinlian didn't even know the girl was a firebender.

"Are you all right?" Nekana asks.

"I—yes." Jinlian stands shakily and retrieves her knife from the dust.

"Then keep running," Nekana says. "Hide in the forest." Her voice grows even harder with a bitterness Jinlian doesn't understand. "When a city is sacked…no one is safe."

Jinlian nods.

"Help Temurin," she says. "He's in the middle of it." Then she runs after her daughter and nephew, calling Haojun's name into the country air.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

_We have around 10 more chapters to go! I have written all of them but am editing before I post. Enjoy!_

* * *

Azula coughs in the dusty street, where the battle has disintegrated into small clusters of fighters. She can think of many ways to end this conflict. Capture Mayor Sota and hold her hostage unless the Fire Nation army backs down. Use lightning to send the precarious buildings on either side of the road toppling into the street. Or she could reveal herself to the soldiers and command them to retreat, sparing the civilians. The best plan by far would be to decapitate the leadership of both the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation soldiers.

Unfortunately, leader of the Earth Kingdom forces is exactly the person she's trying to save.

_Don't be a conqueror. Think. _

A slash of silver. Azula jumps to the side, barely missing an Earth Kingdom soldier's blade. Instinctively, she punches his elbow, grabs the sword hilt, and slams her opponent backwards, her foot placed behind his so he trips. The soldier crumples. Before he can get up, Azula slams the hilt of the blade into his skull.

One down. Azula breathes in and out heavily. Her arms tremble, and she drops the sword. Has she become that weak? Her lip curls. She can't disable everyone here. Maybe she could capture Altan, drag him away from the fight?

First, she has to find him.

A Fire Nation soldier stumbles from the haze, but before Azula moves, a huge man barrels in from a side alley, swinging a hammer. With one strike, the newcomer breaks the soldier's arm. She screams. And then, to Azula's surprise, the bull-like man grabs his victim by the back of the arm and drags her back into the alley.

"Stay down!" he yells at the woman, who clutches her arm and wails. When he turns, Azula recognizes him: Jinlian's beefy new husband, Guo. She doesn't think she's ever heard Guo speak before. Who is he fighting for?

Azula steps aside, unnoticed, as Guo rushes past. As she watches, the blacksmith downs an Earth Kingdom soldier, then, joined by another villager, attacks a Fire Nation one.

Remarkable_. _The Qima villagers are fighting back. Azula wonders who their leader is, how she can turn this to her advantage.

She ducks a chunk of flying this entire town is not her mission.

Staying apart from the mass of struggling bodies, Azula scans the scene for Altan or Temurin. Not to her left, but maybe—there. She spots a slender man kneeling over a body, frantically trying to stop blood gushing from the soldier's leg.

Azula runs, weaving through swinging swords and blasts of fire, until she reaches Temurin. It's only when she grabs his shoulder that she realizes he might know who she is. Did Altan tell him?

Temurin starts at her touch. Stares at her for a second.

"Give me your hand!" he yells. Without waiting, he grabs her wrist and holds it over the soldier's exposed upper thigh. Azula falls beside him, confused, but swimming in relief. He must not know.

"I need you to cauterize the wound," Temurin shouts over the din. "Can you do that?"

In response, Azula heats the air around her hand until it shimmers, without summoning a flame.

"Now!"

With a sickening feeling, Azula presses her hand to the wound while Temurin holds the man down. Flesh sizzles, and Azula looks away. This happened to Zuko in the arena, she remembers. A direct burn, leaving a scar in the shape of a handprint.

"That's enough!"

Panting, Azula rocks back on her heels, and Temurin begins to bind the wound.

"Temurin, you can't be here!" Azula shouts in his ear. "You're going to get killed!"

"I have you," he replies. "Besides, they need me!"

"Come back later," Azula begs. "Please, Temurin." Why can't he understand? Does he think he's invincible?

Temurin finishes bandaging the cauterized wound, then starts to drag the unconscious to the side of the road. Azula helps; to her dismay, her hands begin to shake again with the effort. They hide the soldier behind a bush, then Temurin turns to her, pulling down his mask.

"I have to stay, Nekana," he says harshly. "You know what I've done."

"The only reason I'm still here is to make sure you and Altan don't die!" Azula yells. "Don't make me knock you out and drag you away!" At this point, she isn't even sure she can.

"You're here to find Altan?" Temurin asks, eyes wide.

"Yes."

"To protect him?"

"Yes!" Why is he so shocked? His mouth trembles.

Without warning, Temurin pulls her against his chest, left arm around her waist, right hand cupping the back of her head, clutching her like she's in danger of falling. She feels his cheek against her ear; he smells of dust, sweat, and herbal medicine. Tentatively, she puts her arms around him. He doesn't feel as thin as he looks.

He breaks away first. "You're a good person, Nekana," he says fervently. "Now go find Altan. Save him from himself."

Azula starts to argue, but Temurin shakes his head. "I'm just a doctor. No one will attack me. Now _go_."

Azula backs away. What just happened? The only reason he'd be surprised she is helping Altan is if he knew who she is. But he can't know, or else he wouldn't have held her like that. He wouldn't have told her she was a good person.

"Go!"

Still unsure, Azula runs out into the open. There are fewer fighters and more bodies, but she runs amongst the shadowy figures. Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, colonials…none of them are her target. She turns a corner, then another, searching the streets and hoping she isn't too late. She examines a cluster of bodies outside the butcher's stand: a bearded man knocked out cold, a woman biting her lip with pain, half-scorched person with long black hair. None of them are Altan.

Her earlier running high has disappeared completely. Every step hurts, her lungs constricting painfully. She begins to long for something to smooth away this pain, to smooth away everything. _Already? _Dread sinks in Azula's stomach. Even if she can't trust her own mind, she's always been able to trust her body. But her quest to find the spirits has weakened her. She staggers against a wooden cart, gripping the side with white-knuckled fingers. Where is Altan? She has to find him. Altan, so pretty, so pretty he wants her dead.

Someone yells up ahead. Forcing her head upwards, Azula sees a half dozen Fire Nation soldiers arrayed in a half circle, pinning down two green-robed figures against a storehouse wall. One swings his sword wildly, briefly parting the crowd.

It's Altan. And next to him is Mila. She's dressed in green but her dark skin and grey braids are unmistakable. She lashes out at the Fire Nation soldiers with a waterwhip.

In an instant, Azula is among them. Two blazing fire daggers in her hands, she kicks out one soldier's knees and grabs her arm as she falls. Azula twists the arm behind the soldier's back and pulls, causing a sickening crunch as the shoulder dislocates. She jumps in front of Altan and Mila and summons twin whips of blue fire.

"It's over!" she yells at the five remaining red-armored troops. "Stand down!"

Everyone freezes, confused.

And then something hits her hard in the back. She falls to her hands and knees, gasping for breath, as pain blooms across her upper shoulders. Her fire goes out. And when she turns her head, she sees Altan standing over her, another rock in his hands.

Of course.

It's an ancient Earth Kingdom punishment, stoning. But one Altan probably finds fitting. Eyes resolute, he lifts the rock, soft brown hair still hanging in his eyes.

Then with a sudden blast of fire, the fighting resumes. Mila sends a host of small ice daggers flying over their heads, forming a V like turtle-ducks in migrating south. Altan crouches, and the icicles rattle off the Fire Nation soldiers' shields and ricochet dangerously back at them. Azula heaves herself to her feet.

When she rises, Altan's sword is locked with a soldier's. His teeth are gritted, jaw clenched. Whipping her shin up, Azula kicks Altan's opponent squarely in the side. He buckles. And then Azula slams her foot into his forehead, and his eyes roll to white.

"I don't need your protection!" Altan yells. He cuts downwards with enough force to split Azula in half, but she dodges to the side. Darting around Altan, she sends a blast of blue flame at the Fire Nation's firebender, who braces herself and parts it with difficulty. The return blast is swift, but instead of merely shielding herself, Azula redirects the fire back at the sender. She hears a whistle in the air, and drops to the ground just as Altan's sword passes over where she had been standing.

She has to keep moving. As she somersaults, then tackles another soldier, she tries to keep an eye on Altan. He may be inept with his sword, but she still can't turn her back to him.

The fight seems to blur. Duck, punch, bend. Save Altan. Dodge Altan's blows. _Does Zuko feel like this when he's with me? _Because no many times she drags a soldier off of Altan, no many times she tries to help him, he lashes out with the same determination and fury. She spins around Altan, her back briefly pressed against his as she protects him from a wave of fire.

Fighting Zuko at the Western Air Temple. At the Fire Nation Palace. In the forest on their way to find their mother. Again and again, she tried to end her brother's life. And again and again, he spared her. Because deep down, he loved her.

Tears fill her eyes. She never apologized. Even when she left him.

Something grabs her ankle; Azula crashes to the ground. Mila stands over Azula and strikes down with a blade of ice. Azula rolls to the side. The ice sword pierces the ground near her face and splinters. Azula sends a wild fire blast at Mila and stumbles to her feet. Altan advances, his bloody sword in hand.

"I told you not to come back!" Altan says.

Azula struggles to stand, but water whips snake around her wrists and ankles, pulling her to her knees. The water freezes to ice and encases her hands. Altan's face is pale, but determined. He raises his sword.

"Forgive me," Azula gasps, looking up at him.

He hesitates.

And that's when the last Fire Nation soldier drives a knife into the side of Altan's skull.

Temurin halts in horror as he sees Altan fall. Nekana screams. The ice pinning Nekana to the ground melts away, and she crawls to the young man's side as Mila and the Fire Nation soldier turn on each other.

Even as he runs up, Temurin knows there is nothing he can do. Altan's eyes are blank, a pool of blood slowly expanding around him. Hearing his footsteps, Nekana rounds on him.

"Temurin, Temurin, do something," she sobs.

"Nekana, I can't," he chokes out.

"I command you to heal him!" she begs, tears tracking down her hollow cheeks. She drags Altan into her lap, and her words devolve into a wordless moan, interrupted by her rapidly shortening breath.

"I—my fault—" she gasps.

Temurin's vision blurs with tears.

"We can't stay here, Nekana," he says.

Somehow, Nekana stands, heaving Altan up with her. Her golden eyes are wild and unfocused as she backs away from Temurin, back down the ruined street. Her back is unprotected.

"You can heal him, Temurin, I know you can!" she begs.

With a shout, Mila finishes the Fire Nation soldier. She stands panting, her ice-sword dripping with blood. But Qima's streets are quiet and full of the dead. Mila seems to assess the situation, her wizened and wiry arms trembling. Her eyes fall on Temurin, Altan, and Nekana.

"Get out of my village," Temurin spits, standing protectively in front of Nekana, who is still trying to drag Altan through the rubble.

Mila's face tightens. Then she dissolves her ice-sword and runs.

Immediately, Temurin turns and takes a tentative step towards Nekana. The influence of the yapian, and now this…she's probably seconds away from collapsing from shock herself.

"Come back, Kana," he says gently. "He's gone. It's not your fault."

She shakes her head vehemently, gripping Altan under his armpits. She is covered in his blood.

"Kana—"

A blur of green behind her. A flash of grey. And before Temurin can even scream, an earthbender appears from the side and swings an axe at Nekana's head. The blade cuts across her skull, silver turning red. And she, too, falls to the dust. Altan's body falls on top of her.

Gone. Both gone. The sky shimmers.

In a second, the earthbender is gone too. Temurin drops his bloody scalpel and cradles Nekana's head in his hands. Her face is covered in scarlet. Desperately, he presses his last bandage to her head.

Hands working quickly, he begins to pray.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Soft tendrils of grass brush Azula's cheek, and the wind rustles in a wave through the grasses. A swoop, mournful bird cry joins the wind's melody. Without opening her eyes, Azula breathes in deeply. She feels more whole than she has in months.

"Azula?"

Azula's eyes snap open. A child Zuko is crouched by her head. He pokes her face lightly, looking concerned. She pushes him away.

When Azula stands, her body responds far more quickly than it has recently. She looks herself over. Instead of Fire Nation armor, she's wearing a fitted green tunic and blousy red trousers. The bones in her hands no longer stand out; when she flexes her arms, she recognizes the muscle tone she had when she was still a Princess of the Fire Nation. Her hair is done in a high ponytail, without even the two tendrils of hair she usually leaves down to frame her face. Azula smiles when she touches her own cheeks. The hollowness is gone.

Zuko is watching her self-examination with a slight smile.

"Your self-image has changed," he remarks.

Azula scowls. "Where have you been?" she demands. "All those times I tried to contact you, you were silent. You can't just tell me I have a future and then disappear." To Azula's horror, her eyes well up, and she stabs an accusatory finger at the child, hoping anger will mask her weakness. "And how can you even bea spirit if Zuko is still alive?"

Zuko's eyes fill with a sadness is far older and deeper than his young face.

"Who are you?" Azula's voice shakes. "Just tell me. I'm so tired."

Zuko sighs. His white funeral robes grow brighter and brighter, until Azula has to hold up a hand to block the light. The spirit flashes. The child version of Zuko disappears, and in its place stands an old man. He is tall, with a long white beard and hair pulled up into a topknot. He wears sweeping red robes lined with gold, and despite his obvious age he does not look feeble. For a second, Azula thinks it is her father. And then she notices the red, ropy burn scar on the old man's left eye.

"Zuko?" Azula says. "What—"

"I _am _Zuko, but not the one you know," the old man says. His voice is more gravelly as an old man.

"How to explain this…this is why I thought it would be easier to appear as a child." He rubs his forehead with one hand, such a characteristically Zuko move that Azula finds herself believing, somehow, that this is her brother.

"Oh spit it out, Zuzu," she says scathingly. "Enlighten me. How are you alive—I hope—in the Fire Nation and _also _an old man in the Spirit World? Or am I dead, and all time has collapsed?"

"Time _is _different in the Spirit World," Zuko says. "That's how I'm talking to you. You see, I'm alive. In your future. I was meditating when I first saw you by the side of some dusty Colonial road—"

"That was the day I killed on those bandits," Azula says. Her mind shudders away from the horror of that day, of the burnt faces and collapsing houses.

"The next time I entered the Spirit World, I couldn't find you. I wandered for hours. You were never there. But then—"

"The yapian den."

"Yes," the older Zuko says sadly. "I wanted to give you hope, Azula. I told you that you're destined to help me, that the Fire Nation cannot survive without the two of us working together to heal your ancestors' wrongs, all so you wouldn't despair. To give you hope that you can redeem yourself.

"But instead of encouraging you, I see my words only tormented you. I'm sorry, Azula."

"So you didn't mean it?" Azula asks, horrified.

"I did mean it!" Zuko says hastily. "You _do _help me in your future. I would never lie to you, Azula."

"I don't know how I could help you," Azula says. "Everything I touch—everyone I touch—breaks." She thinks of the blood running down Altan's face and feels a growing despair.

"Perhaps the best way to help us is first to help yourself."

Suddenly, Azula is soaring through the air on the back of a scarlet dragon. All she can do is grab Zuko's robes in front of her, eyes wide as she watches the flower meadow beneath them get smaller and smaller. They fly over a river bubbling with purple, rounded spirits, a thick forest teeming with tiny yellow fireflies that blink in unison, and lake with waves as high as houses. The dragon doesn't seem to flap its wings, but rather swims through the air like a serpent. Azula places her hand on the warm, dry scales of Zuko's dragon and can't prevent a smile from curving her lips. As a child she always wanted to ride a dragon.

Below and to the right, an ugly red stain splits the ground. Rocks like scorpion tails curve up around a pit full of mist. As they fly over the expanse, the chill of the fog makes Azula's toes curl up in her boots. Faint screams and wails float up from the darkness.

"What is that?" Azula yells over the rush of the wind.

"The Fog of Lost Souls," Zuko says grimly. He tightens his grip on one of the dragon's ivory spikes. "It's a prison for humans lost in the Spirit World. Every day, every hour, those poor souls relive their worst memories. Eventually, the prisoners go mad."

Azula is silent. The moans echo in her mind, and unwillingly she considers her worst memories. With a shiver, she realizes that all her worst memories are of what she has done. She hunted Zuko across the Earth Kingdom, and killed her half-brother without warning or mercy. She kidnapped children in the Fire Nation capital to try and manipulate Zuko. And most recently, she tried to save Altan, but only ended up with his blood on her hands, pooling on the dusty street…no. She pushes the thought away, locks in the back of her mind where she keeps her darkest thoughts. She can't think of him now.

Leaving the Fog of Lost Souls behind, the dragon flies towards a cluster of miniature mountains resembling the ones outside Bahasa. The mountaintops are rounded, covered in green, and a thatched building perches atop the stone.

Abruptly, the dragon swoops down, dropping Azula's throat into the pit of her stomach, and she grips Zuko's fluttering outer robe again. It's a thrilling elation not unlike the high of yapian or the power in her veins after a fight. Or the warmth of Altan's skin.

The dragon twists. Azula nearly tips off before the dragon lands smoothly on a clearing on the nearest mountain. Heart beating fast, Azula slides down the scaly side, relieved to plant her feet on solid ground. Her curve-toed boots meet earth.

Up ahead, smoke rises from a small cottage like the tormenting fog they left behind. The shelter looks hand-made and unlike anything else she's seen in the Spirit World. In fact, it resembles the lean-to Azula built in the forest outside Qima to hide her yapian habit, comprising a straw roof, pine logs, and a small hole to let out the noxious fumes. Azula is stricken by a sudden terror. Who-or what—is living there?

Could it be Altan? Here to accuse her in the Spirit Realm?

"Why did you take me here?" Azula rounds on Zuko. He swings his leg over the side of the dragon and slides down. His maroon outer layer balloons gracefully as he lands on the stone and lichen mountaintop.

"There is someone I want you to talk to." Zuko gestures to the smoky cottage.

"You're from the future. Just tell me what happens! What should I do?"

"I can't tell you the future," Zuko says. "There is no shortcut to regaining your honor, Azula. And even though you've come very far, if you want to help me, if you want to help your friends, you still need to change!"

"I've already changed so much I hardly recognize myself!" Azula spits. "Princess Azula is dead, Zuko!"

"You are not who you once were, but neither have you decided _who you will become," _says Zuko heatedly.

Azula's lip curls. Who is this bizarre future-Zuko to force her into anything? She opens her mouth, ready to reject him.

Unbidden, Altan's body floats to the forefront of her mind. So does the look of betrayal in Temurin's eyes when she attacked him in his own house. Even though she's tried to live by love, like Zuko said, she feels even more lost than when she left the Fire Nation. Back in the physical realm her body and mind are fragile, weakened by insanity and yapian; even when she tried to do good by taking over Bahasa, the Avatar still rejected her.

If she doesn't change, she might as well walk into the Fog of Lost Souls right now.

"I have one more question," Azula asks Zuko, who stands waiting patiently. "How did you first find me in the Spirit World? If you weren't even looking for me?"

Zuko smiles. His dragon curls behind him like a languid cat.

"Is it really so strange that our spirits will always seek each other out?" he asks. "Whether we are in the physical realm or in the Spirit World, we are bound by blood. Our legacy is one."

Azula nods. Then she turns on her heel and strides with false confidence into the dark, misty hut.

The inside seems larger than the outside, and smoke billows around her like an entrance to that cursed fog. She tries to summon a flame, but can't, and fear curls at the base of her spine.

Ahead of her, through spirals of teasing smoke, the wiry outline of a figure emerges. He sits shirtless and cross-legged before the fire, skin a dark nut-brown, wearing nothing but a raggedy loincloth. As she creeps forward, his eyes pop open, the whites bright in the darkness.

"Princess!" he exclaims. "Welcome to my humble abode in the Spirit World!"

_Oh no, _Azula thinks. _This can't possibly be…_

"I am Guru Pathik," the man says without moving from his meditative pose. "Lord Zuko has enlisted me to guide you in this next part of your journey."

"I know who you are," Azula says wearily. "I had a friend named Ty Lee, and she wouldn't shut up about you."

"Ty Lee!" Pathik exclaims. "The young acrobat so interested in chi! How is she?"

"I don't know." Reluctantly, Azula sits cross-legged, keeping the fire between Guru Pathik and herself. "She betrayed me, so I tried to kill her, and we haven't spoken in three years."

"Oh my." Pathik closes his eyes as if thinking deeply.

"People say true friends must always hold hands, but true friends don't need to hold hands because they know the other hand will always be there," he intones.

Azula frowns. "Well, I wasn't a true friend to her. Obviously."

"One of your many defects, Princess," Pathik opens one eye. "So. If you know who am I, do you know how I mean to help you?"

"Will you show me the energy of the universe?" Azula says scathingly.

"With that attitude, you will never change." Guru Pathik turns his back to her and then, inexplicably, places his head onto the ground and raises himself into a headstand. The tips of his toes brush the thatched roof.

"You may go," he says.

"What? No!" Azula walks around to address Pathik, but finds that his white beard has flipped to cover his face. A small mole-butterfly nests in the tangled hair.

"I know I need to change," Azula says to the beard. "I just don't like any of this…spirit nonsense."

"Accept my methods, or leave."

"But—"

"Accept! Or leave."

Azula seethes. But only emptiness waits for her in the physical realm.

"Fine!" Azula yells. "I accept! I'm sorry!"

Pathik flips to his feet.

"Then sit, Princess," he says. Azula obliges, and Pathik takes her hands.

"You are the most stopped-up person I've ever met," he says in genuine wonder. "I have never met someone who needs to clear their chakras so badly. It's impressive you can even bend with all these fears and emotions blocking your chi."

"I've always been remarkable," Azula says wryly.

"For you to have peace, you must confront what blocks your chi, your inner energy and the source of your power," Pathik instructs her. "Will you take this journey with me?"

Azula nods.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Azula breathes in deeply. Her stomach flutters oddly as she faces Guru Pathik. She's meditated before, of course, to focus her firebending powers. But unblocking her chakras? That sounds far more extensive.

"The first chakra you must unlock is the Earth Chakra at the base of your spine," Pathik says, voice low and clear.

"It deals with survival, and is blocked by fear. What are you afraid of, Azula?"

Images appear in the smoke: Azula on the ground, chi-blocked by her best friend, betrayed and abandoned. Kneeling at her father's feet, banners of the Phoenix King fluttering, as he tells her he's leaving her behind. Running through a Colonial town, tears streaming down her face. Sitting in her hut, shivering and smelling yapian.

"I'm afraid of being alone," Azula confesses. "I've always been alone."

"Is that why you concealed your identity from your new friends?" Pathik asks gently. "Did you fear that if they knew who you were, they'd abandon you?"

"Yes," Azula chokes out. "And I was right." Altan's lips had curled in revulsion when he learned who she was. She had hoped—but she was naïve to think someone could love her.

"You're not alone, Princess." New faces swirl in the smoke: Zuko, his hand outstretched. Ursa with her changed face, asking for forgiveness. And, to Azula's surprise, Temurin standing against the backdrop of a battle, holding her fiercely.

"That doesn't count," Azula says immediately. "He doesn't know about me. He'd leave me too."

"He knows who you are." Pathik smiles. "Azula, you must not let your fear of being alone prevent you from seeing the people who already love you. Trust that your friends will stay. Let your fear go."

Azula's bottom lip quivers. Being alone with herself is a terrible prospect. But if Pathik is right, perhaps there is some hope. She inhales deeply. Trust your friends. As she exhales, she imagines unknotting and unwinding all the tangled fear within her, letting it spool out into the mist. Trust. A muscle in her back relaxes.

"Good, Princess." Pathik picks up a wooden ladle and pours water onto the fire. Sour-smelling steam billows up and surrounds the room until Azula can no longer see the guru's face.

"This next chakra will be very hard for you. It is your water chakra, and deals with pleasure. It is blocked by guilt."

Azula watches herself standing atop the walls of Ba Sing Se, overseeing the city. "Kill everyone who resists," the younger Azula orders a helmeted commander. "They don't deserve our mercy…"

A flash of lightning in an arena built for death. Zuko falls, clutching his chest, and the water-bender screams. Azula looks down at her smoking fingers. Did she do this?

Another lightning strike, and her half-brother Akira falls dead to the floor next to the body of their father. Zuko, wrists bound in chains, stares in horror at their brother. Zuko's eyes go dull, their characteristic spark extinguished. Her fault.

Faster now, Temurin collapses, clutching his ribs where she struck him, eyes accusing her. And Altan, distracted by her plea for forgiveness, a knife hilt protruding from his head. All her doing.

"My fault," Azula hears herself say raggedly, voice hitched with tears. "So many dead. All my fault."

"You must accept that these things happened." Pathik's voice drifts through the visions. "Accept your responsibility. And then let your remorse drive you to change."

"I don't want to hurt my friends," Azula says. "But I do—I always do—I always will."

"If you feel guilt, you've already taken the first step."

Azula can't see Pathik; instead, the visions shoot by faster and faster in blurs of vivid color. Ba Sing Se. The bandits. Zuko. Akira. Temurin. Altan. Mai and Ty Lee join their ranks. She would have killed her only friends.

"Make it stop!" Azula begs. "Please."

"Accept what you have done. And move on."

But Azula can't. The guilt is like quickstand, sucking her deeper and deeper into visions of everyone's she's ever harmed. Too many people…it's too much.

"Hold her still!" Temurin orders. Wakaba, Nekana's erstwhile student, places two sturdy hands on Nekana's thin frame, wide face pale and nervous. Temurin places one hand on either side of Nekana's face, dropping his needle. Thank the spirits he finished sewing up her wound before she started these convulsions. Nekana struggles weakly against him, but only succeeds in pressing herself deeper into one of Mayor Sota's spare beds.

"Father, no…" Nekana moans. "Father, I don't want to anymore."

Temurin's blood chills. Nekana's lips are chapped, her skin stretched tight against her cheekbones. Her father…she must mean Firelord Ozai. What would it have been like to have him as a father? He glances over at Wakaba. If Nekana talks this much in her sleep, she may end up revealing her identity.

"It will be alright, Nekana," Wakaba says unexpectedly, grabbing one of Nekana's fragile hands. "We're here."

"I don't think she can hear you," Temurin says dutifully. But it warms him that someone cares. If only Nekana knew.

With a sigh, Nekana drifts off to a more peaceful sleep. Temurin releases his grip, and her head falls so her cheek rests against the pillow, exposing the side of her pale throat. Temurin surveys the shaved wreck of Nekana's skull. She's so weak. So thin. And yet so deadly.

"I'll look after her," Wakaba volunteers.

"You will?" Temurin hesitates. As much as he wants to, he can't stay with Nekana constantly. There are dozens of injured from the battle who need his attention, all housed in the various rooms of Mayor Sota's mansion. But what if Nekana says something?

"Yes. You're not Nekana's only friend, you know." Wakaba plunks herself down by Nekana's bedside.

"If she says something odd…ignore her," Temurin orders.

"It's no wonder she's upset," Wakaba says quietly. "Her husband just died."

Temurin turns away at the reminder. He can't think of the dead when so many are dying.

"Let me know if she wakes."

"_We're here."_

"_Azula, I forgive you."_

_ "Accept what you have done."_

Azula feels a strong hand grasp hers.

"Princess," Guru Pathik says through the fog. "Given the chance, would you make different choices?"

"Yes."

"Then let the past go, and make amends where you can."

It's so hard for Azula to think when the faces are still flashing by. But she tries.

"I'm sorry for what I've done," Azula says deliberately. The steam condenses on her skin, dripping down her cheeks like she's emerged from a hot bath. She envisions her past dripping off of her bit by bit until she is clean and new.

Her lower stomach relaxes, and Azula opens her eyes. _Did I do it? _

Guru Pathik holds out a shell sloshing with yellow soup.

"Drink up," he says. "You'll need your strength after clearing that chakra."

His eyes twinkle in a way that Azula doesn't trust, but Azula accepts the soup. She does feel drained and empty. But not necessarily in a bad way. She sips the soup, and tries to hide her disgust. Bananas and onions? She can tell Guru Pathik is waiting for her reaction, so she quickly downs the entire cup.

"Delicious," she lies.

Pathik laughs.

Zuko floats from dream to dream. In one, he's teaching Aang firebending again at the Western Air Temple. They flow through Sun Warrior forms beneath tiered towers that hang precariously from the bottom of craggy cliffs. Green moss slowly eats into the ancient buildings, and the cracks in the stone branch like veins on a palm. In front of Zuko are three alcoves displaying air nomads are rendered in stone.

"Come on, Zuko!" Aang shouts. "Let's learn to waterbend!" The young Avatar rolls a ball of water down his elbows, then manipulates the liquid into a playful squiggle.

"I can't, Aang," Zuko says. "I have to be Firelord."

Aang frowns, then bursts into a thousand droplets of water. The entire scene melts, and Zuko falls down the whirlpool, down, down to a small steam-filled room.

Azula stares at him with liquid golden eyes. She looks healthy, strong, and Zuko is suddenly aware that he's dreaming.

"Zuko, I owe you an apology," she says. To her right, a dark-skinned man folds a piece of orange paper into a tiny swan. He shakes his head irritably, and tosses the swan aside.

"I've tormented you for years. Even when you gave me chance after chance," Azula says, shaking her head. "I'm-I'm so ashamed."

"Azula," Zuko says, shocked.

"I'm going to try to do better, but I don't think I'll ever see you again," his sister confesses. "So I need to apologize properly. I'm sorry for lying, and for fighting you. I was wrong."

Zuko's mind whirls. This is too odd to be a dream.

"Iroh once told me that pride is the source of shame," he says. "But you don't seem prideful now, Azula."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Azula," Zuko says as gently as he can. "I forgave you for everything years ago."

Azula's face splits into a beautiful, clear smile, for once not tinged by ambition or cruel satisfaction. A real smile. It breaks Zuko's heart. _She understands._

Her face wavers like the reflection in a pool after someone casts a stone in the water. As the vision trembles, Zuko awakens with a gasp to his bedroom in the Fire Nation palace. Mai lays beside him, curled on her side under maroon satin sheets. Her shining black hair reflects the moonlight. Shuddering, Zuko wipes the moisture off his cheeks.

It seemed so real.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

_Hello all! Sorry for making you wait. Happy Lunar New Year! We are close to the end...but not as close as you might think._

_Content warning: drug use._

* * *

Azula stands on top of a grassy knoll overlooking the Fire Nation Capital. Built in the hollow of an extinct volcano, the city is lush and sleepy under a grey dawn sky. Pale sunshine lightens the horizon and paints the bottom of clouds a fiery rose. The capital's two lakes reflect the orange-pink clouds like mirrors inlaid in a sundial. Even though Azula knows this is just a vision, her throat clenches with longing.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asks Guru Pathik. The guru stands to the side, left foot forward in a deep lunge and both arms raised to the sky. Breathing in deeply, he stretches upwards before lowering to a plank position.

"To your left!" Pathik instructs her. He drops his hips and lifts his chest to the rising sun.

Azula turns. And suddenly, where before there was only orange-dappled grass, a small family camps on the hill. Her family. Ozai sits cross-legged with a two-year-old Zuko squirming in his lap, and Ursa carefully sets a baby on her stomach on a rich scarlet blanket. Azula. Azula watches her infant self struggle to lift her head, all four limbs kicking.

The sun breaks over the top of the volcano. Zuko squeals in delight, flails his chubby arms, and nearly punches their father in his excitement.

"Use your words, Zuko," Ursa says gently. On the blanket, baby Azula finally lifts her neck to gaze at the orange clouds and brilliant sun.

"Look at how she responds to the sun," Ozai smiles. "She's a firebender for sure." Ozai rubs Azula's back, gazing at her fondly.

"Do you know what chakra is next?" Pathik now stands next to Azula, balancing on one leg.

"No." Azula doesn't take her eyes off her parents. Only Ursa is alive and can remember this day.

"Your next chakra lies in your heart. It deals with love and is blocked…by grief."

"Grief?"

Azula focuses on her father. So caring, if not to Ursa at least to his children. Ozai looks so young without his beard and his crown, face glowing in the morning sunlight. With a sudden pang, Azula wishes she could go back in time to this moment, where a young family enjoyed the yawning sunlight. Before Zuko got his scar, before Ursa was exiled, before Ozai escalated the war. When she was just a Princess, innocent and secure in her parents' love.

The last time Azula saw her father, she watched her half-brother drive a spear through his chest.

"My father…did many things I now know are wrong," Azula says without looking at Pathik. "But—"

Ozai picks up his daughter and cradles her in his arms. Gently, unbelievably, he kisses her forehead.

"You loved him," Guru Pathik says.

"Yes. And he's dead," Azula sinks to her knees and clutches her side. "Oh spirits, he's dead."

She cries as the sun rises, spilling golden light into the city streets.

"You have lost much, Azula," Pathik says quietly. "Not only your father, but also your place in the Fire Nation. Your identity as a Princess and a member of the Royal Family.

"You are right to grieve. To mourn these losses. But you also must recognize that when a forest is burned down, new growth rises in its place. Your love for Zuko. New love in the form of your friends: Temurin, Jirou, your student Wakaba. And many more to come."

"I know," Azula says, and realizes it's true. New love will come; it's come already. With difficulty, she stands and walks over to the memory of her family, then kneels so she can see Ozai's unlined face. He smiles in pride.

"Goodbye, Father," she says.

The sun crests the volcano top in full, and everything melts in bright light.

Reluctantly, Temurin approaches the double doors he's avoided all day. An iron bolt lays across the outside of the carved wooden door; Temurin doesn't know what Mayor Sota used this room for when she was still Mayor of Qima, but he doesn't really want to imagine. She was a bizarre old woman, and it's just as well that she fled to the Fire Nation after the battle.

Temurin lifts the bar and tosses it on the floor. There is no guard and no need to lock the door behind him. With a sorrowful sinking in his stomach, Temurin pulls both doors towards himself. The wood creaks as the panels part to reveal a spacious bedroom.

Sitting by the barred window is Jirou. Snow falls quickly in the white world outside, rendering Jirou into a black silhouette. The boy turns his head sharply when Temurin enters, but doesn't move. Temurin lets the doors fall closed behind him. As he approaches his nephew, he grabs the back of a velvet-upholstered chair and drags it to face Jirou by the window.

Jirou has spoken little since Jinlian brought him out of the forest. As always, when Temurin sees his nephew's pinched face, he's filled with guilt. How could he not have seen that Jirou and Altan were in contact with Zhao's rebels? Why did he assume that Zhao would just leave him and his family alone? Jirou has not only _done_ but _seen _terrible, terrible things. All under Temurin's watch. Temurin sent his sister Aliya a letter yesterday as soon it became clear that Jirou would have to answer for what he'd done.

"Grandma visited earlier," Jirou volunteers.

With a start, Temurin realizes he's been silent too long. He smiles quickly. "Then you've seen her more recently than I have. How is our new mayor?"

"She says that since we're part of the United Republic now, my fate will be decided by the Council in Yu Dao," Jirou says solemnly.

"She said that?" Temurin leans back in his chair.

From their conversations over the past few days, it's become clear that Jirou still believes the Earth Kingdom ought to rule. But the shock he suffered during the battle and the news of Altan's death has left Jirou quiet. Shaken. And regretful about his actions if not his motivations.

Jirou's actions have brought ruin, death, and misery to this small town.

Yet he's just a child.

"No matter what Yu Dao decides…I won't let you be harmed," Temurin tells Jirou. "You were under my care. And even though you went behind my back, I should have noticed. I should have protected you."

"It's not your fault, Uncle." Jirou twists his lips into a smile. "I lied to you."

"That's the worst part, Jirou."

"The fifth chakra resides in your throat, and deals with truth. It is blocked by lies. When have you lied, Princess?"

Azula laughs shortly. Her legs are crossed, and she and Pathik sit under a blooming cherry tree by a river.

"A better question is 'when have I told the truth'?" she says bitterly. "I always lie. It's necessary to survive."

"Only if you assume the worst of people," Pathik corrects her. "Can you think of a time that your lies hurt someone?"

Azula thinks hard. Lies come so easily to her. When she tries to reconstruct her past and separate lies from truth, it's like she bumps against a thick fog, or a path blocked by thickets of thorns and twisting falsehoods. Her lies are impossible to entangle, laced through her narrative like veins through flesh.

A cherry blossom floats into the air and tumbles into her lap, and with it, a memory.

She stands before Zuko in a mountain retreat. Full cherry trees blossom outside the window and blow in the spring breeze. With two sharp fingernails, she shatters a seashell.

"_I've come with a message from home. Father regrets your banishment. He wants you home," Azula lies._

_Zuko turns to the window so that Azula can only see the unblemished side of his face._

"_Father regrets? He…wants me back?" his voice trembles._

Sentimental fool, _Azula thinks._

Azula surfaces. Now that she knows what it's like to be in exile, knows what it's like to yearn for home, she can't believe that she was so cruel. No. She believes it. It sickens her.

"I lied to my brother and told him he could come home," Azula tells Pathik. "But the whole time, I planned to betray him."

Guru Pathik nods. "Lies are a betrayal, Azula. When you return to the world, you must rid yourself of lies as much as you can."

"But if I tell the truth about who I am, people will try to kill me," Azula counters.

"And who are you?"

It's an impossible question. Against her will, Azula feels herself growing angry, but she controls it.

"I don't know. Someone looking for a fresh start. Someone who doesn't want her friends to die."

"Then tell the truth about that." Pathik catches a falling blossom and tucks it in his beard. Pleased with the effect, he snatches another one out of the air and nestles it next to the first. Soon his off-white beard is positively infested with pink flowers. What a freakish old man.

Even so, he hasn't proved to be false.

"I'm sorry for my lies, and I will tell the truth as best I can," Azula says. There.

"Now, that wasn't so hard!" Pathik grins. "Flower?"

Azula shooks him a crippling glare.

"I think we'll stay here for the next chakra," Pathik gets up and wades thigh-deep into the river.

"Next, you must unblock your light chakra. It deals with insight and is blocked by illusion."

Rolling her eyes, Azula wades into the water with the guru. Insight? She's the most insightful person she knows. Pathik plunges his hands into the water, grabbing at the river bottom, and comes up with handfuls of mud and riverweed. Pathik wiggles his fingers gleefully.

"What do you see, Azula?" he asks.

"The fabric of the universe," Azula says snidely. To her consternation, Pathik's eyes widen in delight.

"Yes! Yes precisely! In my hands I hold water, earth, and air. And this weed can only grow with the firelight of the sun! This mud is the universe. You see, the greatest illusion is that the four elements are separate, when in truth, they are one."

"That's fairly obvious," Azula remarks.

"And just as the four elements are the same, the four nations are also the same. The Fire Nation and its people are no greater than the people of the Earth Kingdom or the Water Tribes."

Azula looks at Pathik blankly. "Yes. And?"

For the first time, the guru seems confused. He lets the mud plop back into the slow-moving river.

"This is not a revelation to you?" he asks. "I thought it would be."

"Even as a Princess of the Fire Nation, I knew I had to use everything at my disposal: firebenders and earthbenders, peasants and kings. I didn't limit myself to fire," Azula says proudly, then pauses.

"But I suppose…I only saw the others as people since I've been in the colonies. Instead of weapons. They are people, after all…and I shouldn't have attacked them just because I could."

"Are even peasants and princesses the same?"

Azula thinks of the raw, jagged hole that Altan's death tore in her lungs. His fate is a tragedy whether or not he had royal blood. It makes no sense. And she thinks of Temurin, just as wily as a Fire Nation commander or noble.

"Even them."

Pressure that Azula didn't know was there releases in her forehead.

"Then you are ready to unlock your final chakra," Pathik says solemnly.

The man blows away like a vapor in the wind, starting at his toes and ending at the crown of his head, and Azula finds herself floating amongst the stars. Below her is a blue planet, swirling with familiar green continents and creamy white clouds. Azula swallows her panic, but feels her heart beating rapidly. Can she fall in space? Even if she's just a spirit? Her breath hitches in and out.

"What can we do?" Wakaba asks, clutching Nekana's frail hand as Nekana's chest quickly rises and falls. Nekana's limbs twitch like she's been shocked by lightning.

"She's going through withdrawal," Temurin replies grimly. He reaches for the pouch of yapian powder at his waist, hoping Wakaba won't ask too many questions. He mixes the powder with water, then holds the cup to Nekana's lips.

"Hold her down," he orders Wakaba. Lifting Nekana's head, he tips the yapian mixture into her half-open mouth. She's still twitching, but most of the medicine seems to go down. Was this even the right dosage? He doesn't know.

When he glances at Wakaba, the girl looks confused, eyes darting from Nekana to Temurin's pouch. Only now putting everything together.

"It will be all right," Temurin lies. Wakaba looks skeptical.

At least the yapian will help with Nekana's pain. Nekana's suffering, twisted movements cut him to the quick.

"Hang in there, Kana," he whispers. He presses his lips to her icy fingers.

Guru Pathik's voice floats eerily all around Azula, making it even harder for her to control her fear.

"The final chakra you must unlock deals with pure cosmic energy. It is blocked by earthly attachments. In order for you to accept your place in the universe, you must let go of everything that ties you to the physical realm."

"What?" Azula yells. "That's bullshit."

Pathik laughs. "That's what the Avatar said. His meaning, if not his exact words."

"Forget the Avatar. The only reason I came here at all was to help my friends. I'm not going to 'let them go' for a foolish superstition!"

"You came here for them, Azula. But when you unblocked each chakra, who did you face?"

A pulsing ball of yellow light like a small sun coalesces above Azula's head. It throbs rhythmically, vibrations reverberating into Azula's pounding skull. She looks up. Flickering at the edges of the fiery energy, she sees a glimmer of lightning and the flash of blue fire. And then, emerging from the light, the golden silhouette of a woman.

"I've faced myself."

Azula feels like she's falling apart. Every inch of her is shivering, her heart clenching as her golden spirit-self approaches. Behind the apparition, faces appear: Zuko, crowned and happy. Temurin, green eyes flashing. Jirou, Wakaba, Hegane, Haojun, even Ursa, Mai, Ty Lee, and little Kazuto.

"You can't rely on Zuko or friends to be your sole reason for living, Azula," Pathik says. "They will fail you, as all humans do. You must choose life for yourself.

"You have before you life and death, peace and despair. So choose life! And live a happier one."

Azula shudders. Life? Life. It's so much harder to think now, perhaps it's the stars floating beneath her feet and all around her. She stares at the faces surrounding her in the black velvet sky.

She's confronted her fear, her guilt, her shame. She let go of her grief, her lies, and her illusions about others. She's been forgiven.

The golden figure of herself waits.

"I choose life," Azula chokes. "I choose life, and I let my friends go."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, the faces of all the people she loves dissipate into stars. And Azula falls, falls, falls towards the planet. She spreads her arms as if she could fly.

When Azula hits the clouds, she wakes.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

_Hello all! So, if I get enough reviews, I'll post one chapter a day, every day this week. The end of the story is near!_

* * *

Hegane has only been Mayor of Qima for a week, but she has already transformed Mayor Sota's study into her office. She's removed the Fire Nation knick-knacks from the shelves and desk, leaving the wood-paneled room darkly austere. She's left the red curtains framing the window; the cloth glows scarlet in the snow's reflected light. A United Republic flag hanging on the wall dominates the room. Temurin frowns. How did his mother get a flag so quickly?

Could Hegane have anticipated this bloody turn of events?

Temurin stands near the door. Behind the desk, his mother reads a scroll, her brow furrowed. Since becoming mayor Hegane has transformed herself, too. Her wild, curly black hair, which she usually ties up in a Fire Nation topknot, is instead twisted into an elegant and neutral braided bun; instead of the casual shirt and pants she wears at home, she's dressed in a set of grey robes. Grey cloth bordered with forest green wraps over her collared shirt, the geometric patterns drawing attention up to Hegane's stern face. The outer robe, cut from a thicker fabric, has wide sleeves covered in swirling black embroidery in the shapes of curled flowers and flames. Her sash is a red so dark it could be brown. Even though Temurin still has reservations about declaring so boldly for one of the three groups battling over Qima—especially while dozens of injured soldiers still recuperate in the mayor's mansion—Temurin can't help but approve of how his mother has committed to her new role with style.

Hegane looks up, face grim.

"What is the status of the injured?" she asks.

"At this point, no one is critically injured," Temurin says. _Except Nekana. _"I'd say of the thirty Fire Nation troops, twenty could go home right now. The Earth Kingdom loyalists from Taiyang suffered greater casualties, but most of the injured twelve suffer only from broken bones. Our own people suffered least, and everyone who was injured has already gone home. I can check on them later this week. "

"And the two Fire Nation soldiers who died yesterday?"

"Burned," Temurin reports. "We made a pyre just like you said."

"Good." Hegane walks around the desk.

"We're in a difficult position, Temurin," she says. "Somehow, we have to return the injured Fire Nation troops to their homes without being blamed for the deaths of twenty of their comrades."

"At least the Earth Kingdom loyalists are from cities now under the United Republic's jurisdiction," Temurin volunteers. "The Yu Dao representative can sentence them when she arrives next week. And I'm sure the Earth King will deny he knew anything about the attack, so he can't punish us."

"Yes. But speaking of Earth Kingdom loyalists—"

"Jirou."

"He's going to be tried as an adult," Hegane says bitterly. "The Yu Dao minister sent a letter warning me." She throws the scroll on the desk.

Temurin's stomach sinks. This is all his fault.

"I'll think of something, Mother," Temurin promises. "Jirou was under my watch. I'll fix this."

Hegane purses her lips and raises one eyebrow. "Do I want to know how you'll fix it?"

Temurin smiles grimly. "Perhaps not."

"Well, I'm sure my son would never doing anything of which I disapprove," Hegane says darkly.

Someone raps on the door. Relieved, Temurin opens it to find Wakaba looming over him, cheeks flushed.

"She's awake!" the girl says. "She's asking for you."

By the time Temurin reaches the sliding door outside Nekana's bedroom, his heart is pounding wildly. He needs to be careful, cautious, conceal from Nekana that he knows her identity. Otherwise, she'll probably kill herself trying to flee. He would never get to thank her properly.

He slides the door open.

Nekana leans against her pillows, examining herself in a handheld mirror. When she notices Temurin, she drops the mirror onto her lap, golden eyes wide.

They stare at each other for a long second, neither quite sure what to say. Temurin's heart beats even faster in a thrill of nerves. Terror? Relief? Excitement? All of the words he planned to say if she woke swell in his throat. To mask his torrent of conflicting emotions, he adopts a businesslike smile.

"I knew you'd survive," Temurin says. Kneeling beside her bed, he takes her wrist and checks her pulse.

"How do you feel?" he asks, studiously counting her heartbeats and avoiding her eyes.

"Better than I look, probably," Nekana answers. She sounds disappointed by his cold welcome. Temurin glances up and promptly loses count of how many times her vein has pulsed in the past minute. Nekana's looking at him appraisingly.

"Take off my bandages," she orders. "I want to see…how bad it is."

Temurin assents; it's about time to change the dressing anyway.

"You'll need to sit up," Temurin says. Nekana tries, but only makes it a few inches before she begins to tremble. Temurin places a hand on her back, supporting her, and quickly stuffs more pillows behind her so she's vertical. Then, carefully, he begins to unwrap the white cloths around her head. He can feel Nekana's breath against his cheek as he works. Even though she's been unconscious for days, her breath smells somehow sweet. Neither of them speak. Temurin tries to fight the flush that's spreading from his ears to his jaw.

As Temurin reaches the bottom layer of bandages, the white is stained with sticky red. Keeping his face neutral, he peels the bandage off, revealing the red slash that cuts horizontally across her temple just above her hairline. Nekana hisses in pain. Temurin's black stiches look grotesque against her milky skin, a poor replacement for the hair he had to shave off to clean the wound. The front part of Nekana's head is covered in dark stubble.

Yet Nekana's hand is steady when she lifts the mirror again. With her other hand, she lightly runs her hand over the stubble; one finger brushes the stitches.

"Why didn't you shave off the rest of my hair?" Nekana asks quietly.

"You have beautiful hair," Temurin says without thinking.

A faint smile curves Nekana's lips. "When my brother received a head injury, he made the mistake of only shaving off part of his hair, and he was stuck with a ridiculous hairstyle for years," she quips. "You should shave the rest off. I'll start over."

"Your wish is my command," Temurin jokes, sitting on the side of her bed. He meant to make her laugh, but instead she grows quiet and pensive. She searches his face and seems to reach a decision.

"No one's said that to me since I was a Princess," Nekana says.

Temurin freezes.

"Your past is your own, Nekana," he finally says clumsily. "You don't have to-if you don't want—"

"I want you to know who I am," says Nekana quietly. "Or rather, who I was." She looks terrified but resolved, and, against his better judgment, Temurin enfolds her left hand in his own, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Then tell me, Kana," he says softly. "I'm listening."

For the next hour, Temurin listens to Nekana's story. How she was born a princess, granddaughter of the Firelord. How she grew up along Firelord Zuko, becoming her brother's rival and her father's favorite. How she fought during the war with cruel decision, and how she went mad after her friends abandoned her. And finally, how slowly, slowly, she realized that her brother was not her enemy, and that the world was a far different place than she imagined.

"And so I chose to live," Nekana finishes. A tear drips down her thin cheek. "I want to live. But I don't really know how."

Temurin leans forward, cupping Nekana's jaw with one hand and brushing her tear aside.

"You saved everyone in Jirou's home village from bandits. You did your best to save lives in Bahasa. And just a week ago, you saved Jinlian, Jirou, and my daughter. Without you, Nekana…without you, the world would be a darker place."

To his dismay, Nekana's tears fall faster.

"I failed, though," she says. "Altan. He's dead."

"That was not your fault," Temurin says angrily. "He did that to himself."

Nekana shakes her head, then whimpers in pain.

Immediately, Temurin lets her go and quickly rewraps her head wound. Pulling out his pouch of yapian, he taps some into a teacup and fills the cup to the brim with the clay teapot Wakaba left in the room.

"What are you doing?" Nekana winces. "I don't want that."

"You're not strong enough to quit immediately," Temurin explains. He lifts the cup to her lips. "I'm weaning you off."

"Don't tell me what I'm strong enough to do," Nekana mutters. But she drinks the tea without further protest. Her eyelids flutter as the yapian hits her system, and she exhales with a half-moan that makes Temurin turn around and busy himself with cleaning the teacup.

"I'm glad you don't hate me, Temurin," Nekana sighs.

"Of course I don't."

"Temurin." She tugs weakly on his sleeve, forcing him to turn around.

"What?"

"I have to tell you one more thing," she whispers faintly, clearly on the edge of dreaming. He leans closer to hear her, and she runs her hand up his arm to his shoulder as if to hold him there.

"Temurin," Nekana starts.

But then, instead of finishing her sentence, she leans forward. And before Temurin can move or think, her lips meet his. She kisses him slowly, inhaling deeply.

She tastes like jasmine.

And then Nekana falls away. Temurin catches the back of her head and lowers her to her pillow. Her hair is thick, filling his hands, and her eyes are closed. Temurin wants to stay, to breathe her in, to process what just happened. And what she meant by it.

But he has dozens of other patients, a daughter who's waiting for him to make dinner, a nephew relying on Temurin for his freedom, and a mother trying to avoid the town's destruction. So instead he leans forward so his lips just barely brush Nekana's ear.

"Sleep well. Azula."


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

_Hello! Here is your promised chapter as we go towards the end. Thank you for the reviews! This chapter was fun to write and a long time in the making. Enjoy!_

* * *

The morning after Azula first wakes is quiet and full of soft, unpacked snow. Azula sits up in bed, propped up by a pillow, and watches the snowflakes drift down through the filter of the frost-webbed window. Each white clump is different, but they all look rough and loose, like they would easily melt on the tongue. The snow forms gentle mounds on top of the trees, bushes, and garden benches; sharp edges are softened under the forgiving cover of white.

Azula's mind also feels blanketed by soothing snow. Where once her thoughts retraced the same twisting paths of guilt, uncertainty, and defiance, now the patterns of her mind are less slippery and painful. Instead of rocks under bare feet, she feels the gentle give of fresh snow under boots. She has lost much: her family, her throne, her health. But somehow acknowledging what she's lost makes it easier to bear. The sky is grey, but the snow is beautiful. And when the clouds depart, the sunlight reflects orange off the sugary ground.

Azula is glad to be alive.

Immediately, a sharp sorrow stabs her chest. Altan isn't alive. But she let Altan go when she chose life, watched him float away into the starry abyss. Temurin says it wasn't her fault. Perhaps one day she'll believe him. For now, she savors the sorrow. She can survive it.

For the rest of the morning, Azula remains quiet, the thick quilt comforting and heavy on her weak legs. Wakaba comes in with breakfast, and Azula sips porridge while her student tells her everything that's happened in the past week. When she hears that Hegane is mayor, she nods in approval. And when she hears that Altan was buried on the grounds of mayoral mansion, she cries. Wakaba's hand on hers is unexpected, but warm.

Her friends' hands are just as gentle as she moves Azula to a chair by the window and then shaves off Azula's remaining hair. Azula watches black locks fall onto carpet. The sound of the scissor cutting through her hair is oddly calming, as is the graze of the straight-edged razor against her skull. But Wakaba seems a little more silent than usual.

"Have you heard from your grandmother?" Azula asks, neck bent forward while Wakaba shaves the back of her head.

"No," Wakaba says. "She offered to take me to the Fire Nation, but when I said no, she was upset?"

Azula frowns. Wakaba's nervous tick—the upward lift to her sentences—is back. But this is probably the girl's first experience with familial rejection.

"She'll reach out eventually," Azula says, trying to be comforting. "And even if she doesn't…you did a brave thing. Staying."

"Thank you."

The blade tugs against Azula's skin; she can practically feel every hair follicle submit to the razor. Snow falling, hair falling.

"It's hard to be on your own," Azula says quietly. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm planning to stay." At least until she repays how much kindness her friends have shown her.

"It does make me feel better. And you're all done." Wakaba brushes hair clippings off of Azula's shoulders, but the stray hairs still prick her skin.

She needs to see herself.

Without warning Wakaba, Azula pushes against the arms of her chair and stands shakily. She totters over to the mirror hanging on the wall over a vanity table and braces herself against the solid wood.

"Nekana—" Wakaba hangs back.

When Azula sees herself, she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

An ugly, jagged red scar cuts horizontally across Azula's forehead, intersected with black stitches like a mouth sewn shut. There are bags under her eyes, and her skin is practically as white as snow outside the window. Her black eyebrows and gold eyes stand out against her pallor. With her bald head and boyish thinness, she looks like the Avatar. She's hideous. But the image fits her. Her hair, her beauty, her strength…the last vestiges of her power are gone. No one will look at her and see a Princess of the Fire Nation. She is really starting from nothing. Azula runs her hand across the smooth crown of her head.

_Pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source. True humility is the only antidote to shame._ Did Zuko say that to her? Or Uncle Iroh?

Azula smiles, as does the girl in the mirror. Behind her, Wakaba's concerned expression softens.

Someone knocks on the door.

"Come in," Azula says, voice clear.

Temurin enters warily. Azula's stomach swoops. She may be able to sanguinely contemplate her new monk-like visage, but it's entirely different to be looked at by others.

But her physical appearance is not her ugliest side. Temurin has already seen her at her worst.

"You're standing!" Temurin says, looking pleased.

"Should she not be?" Wakaba worries.

Temurin shrugs. "She'll regain her strength at her own pace."

Azula's legs tremble, and she leans against the table, hoping against hope neither of her friends noticed.

Naturally, this is too much to ask. In an instant, Temurin is by her elbow.

"May I?" he asks, voice professional.

The first time Temurin tried to treat her, months ago in Taiyang, Azula snapped at him when he presumed to touch her. Now, she nods gratefully when Temurin pulls her arm over his shoulders and helps her to bed. Wakaba pulls back the comforter, and Azula sits down heavily.

"Thank you," she says. Wakaba's square face is kind as ever, but when Azula meets Temurin's eyes, she remembers. Something she had to tell him, pulling him forward. The taste of his mouth.

Her true name on his lips.

"I think I should rest." Azula scoots clumsily to the other side of the bed and gives Wakaba and Temurin a winning smile. "Thank you, Wakaba."

Temurin says something about when he'll be back with medicine, and Wakaba mentions a new scroll she's interested in, but Azula doesn't really hear them. When she's finally alone, she sits back up in bed, making her head throb.

Azula looks to the snow for cooling reassurance. But not even the spiraling snowflakes outside can calm her nerves. This is madness, she tells herself sternly.

But she's experienced madness before. This feels more like…hope.

Azula summons a small blue flame. It reflects in the window, tinging the snow with wild sapphire light.

Over the next few days, Temurin is kept busy. As the only doctor in the entire town, he's constantly checking up on all the wounded soldiers; yet as he re-bandages wounds and marks the progress of splinted bones, Temurin's feeling of foreboding grows. A week ago, his forty patients nearly destroyed the town. All of them are capable of great violence, and if they set their mind to it, they could probably overwhelm the Qima villagers serving as guards at the mayoral mansion.

The Yu Dao delegation will be here in three days. Surely Temurin's patients won't destroy the town before then.

Temurin also visits Jirou at least once a day, unable to shake the feeling that he, Temurin, is completely responsible for his nephew's wayward turn. His guilt turns to nausea every time he unbolts the door into Jirou's room and every time Hegane calls him to her office for advice. Only three days left to decide.

The only bright spot is Haojun. Since Jinlian's near-death experience, his ex-wife seems to have softened. With the choke of death all around him, Temurin is tired of arguing. And so every night for the past week, Jinlian, Haojun, Hegane, and Temurin have eaten dinner in the mayor's quarters. Haojun is remarkably resilient; already she's back to drawing pictures and complex mazes when she's supposed to be eating dinner.

Temurin's glad that his mother didn't invite Guo to the family dinners, though. There are limits.

And then there's the person who is neither a problem nor a source of relief. Nekana has slowly regained her strength, even taking a walk with Wakaba out to Altan's grave. But every time he checks on her, whether he's changing her head bandage or administering her daily dose of yapian, their dynamic feels off. Every touch, every word leaves Temurin hunting stupidly, desperately, for a second meaning. And he can't even tell if his confusion is because of Nekana or because of all the other uncertainty in his life.

Does Nekana remember the kiss?

It would be easier if she doesn't.

When Temurin enters her room with breakfast today, she's already standing, reading a small notebook. Temurin knows Nekana is self-conscious about her bald, bandaged appearance, but to be honest he finds the look striking. Her eyes practically glow with interest.

"What are you reading?" Temurin asks, setting the tray with porridge down on her empty bed.

"A farming catalogue," Nekana answers. When Temurin snorts, she smirks back and tosses the notebook at him.

"Really, look."

Temurin thumbs through the pages; it is, indeed, a schedule of the best time to plant crops and a timetable predicting when the Qima River will flood.

"What is this about?" he asks, bemused.

Nekana sits on her bed and picks at the egg porridge.

"It's a surprise," she grins.

Temurin represses his insane desire to ask if it's a surprise for him. He pulls up a chair.

"You look worried," Nekana says, pointing her spoon at him.

"It's nothing."

"Is it Jirou?"

"It's-a lot of things," Temurin admits. "But yes. Jirou. I can't help but feel…"

"Guilty?"

"Yes, exactly!" Temurin leans forward in his chair. "I deserve to go to prison, not him."

"Believe me, I understand that feeling. But you're not responsible for Jirou's choices."

"I know," Temurin sighs. The twist of guilt doesn't go away.

"I've done very little to make up for what I've done," Nekana says. "So I'm afraid I'm a poor source of advice."

"You've done nothing to be ashamed of—" Temurin starts, and Nekana curls her lip.

"—recently," he finishes.

"Did you…just make a joke about me not murdering people recently?" Nekana asks, horrified.

"Too far?"

Nekana laughs despite herself. "Damn right, too far. Maybe you are the real monster, Temurin. That's messed up."

Her eyes sparkle. She gets up from the bed, circling behind Temurin's chair to retrieve the farming catalogue he deposited on the table. He resists the urge to turn around.

"I'm sure you'll do the right thing," Nekana says from behind him. Her hand rests on his shoulder. She probably means it as a comforting, friendly gesture. But the brush of her fingertips sends spark of lightning straight to Temurin's heart.

Temurin knows he should shake her off. But instead he finds himself reaching up to cover Nekana's hand with his own.

The hairs on the back of his neck raise as he feels Nekana step closer. Her other hand slides up his back, slowly, almost exploratory, over his shoulder blade to his shoulder. She hesitates.

Temurin shivers. Suddenly, rudely, he lets go of her hand and stands.

"Let's take a walk," he says. Cold air, snow, cloaks. "You could use the exercise."

Azula follows Temurin outside into the snow, adjusting the warm woolen hat that Hegane found for her. The trees behind the mayoral mansion are still blanketed with shimmering white, and the world feels silent and peaceful. Yet the farther they walk, the thicker the air feels, and each icy breath burns Azula's lungs. A branch over-laden by ice and snow, cracks sharply; not far off, Azula can hear the slow gurgle of the Qima River. Does Temurin even have a destination? His hands are shoved in his coat pockets, narrow frame hunched. He walks like he wants to run away.

"Slow down," Azula orders.

"Sorry." Temurin stops outright, looking irritated. Azula tries to regulate her breathing and conceal how winded she is. For balance, she places a gloved hand on the bark of a pine tree, then quickly withdraws it. The sticky sap reminds her too much of her yapian den.

"Ready yet?" Temurin asks.

"No," Azula snaps.

They stand staring at each other. Azula can practically hear her own heartbeat. And she bets that the red coloring the corner of Temurin's jaw isn't from the walk.

Hope? Or madness?

Azula walks forward until she's standing less than a foot away from Temurin. The steam from their breath mingles.

"What's really the matter, Temurin?" she asks bluntly.

"Nothing—"

"Liar." Azula takes his hand. He forgot to bring gloves, and his fingertips are purple with cold. She kisses his palm slowly.

Temurin jerks his hand away. "No."

"Why not?" Azula asks angrily. "Is it because of who I am?"

"It's not because of your past, if that's what you mean," Temurin struggles.

"Then why not?" Azula demands.

"It's just…not smart." Temurin blushes as if he knows it's a feeble excuse.

"I'm smarter than you are," Azula says, moving closer again.

"No you're not," Temurin scoffs. But he doesn't back away. Their eyes are level.

"I'm divorced," Temurin hedges.

"I'm exiled."

"I'm a drug dealer."

"I'm a war criminal."

"I—" Temurin scrambles for something desperately, even as Azula feels him melting towards her.

"I'm much older," he concludes.

"Yet somehow not wiser."

Temurin searches her face, for what Azula doesn't know. She suddenly feels very young and inexperienced and cold.

"Azula," Temurin says, voice low. Her breath catches.

No one has ever said her name like that before.

When Temurin says her name, Azula's eyes soften. There's no mistaking what Temurin reads in the woman in front of him.

She cares.

Temurin's caution and reasons and logic melt like snow before fire.

Cupping her face in both hands, he kisses her. It's nothing like last time, the bitter scent of yapian on her breath. It's nothing like his dreams. Instead, Azula responds with surprising joy. When Temurin breaks away, her smile is brilliant and sweet. He's never seen anything so genuine.

He wants to make her smile again.

Azula wants to stay in the forest forever. But night is slowly falling, and Temurin insists on walking back 'before she freezes to death'.

"Fine," Azula agrees. She can be reasonable. She kisses Temurin lightly on the lips. His hair is brushed with snow.

"Just wait until I get my strength back," Azula says smugly as she crunches through the snow back to the mansion, Temurin's hand firmly clasped in hers. "Then you'll be helpless before me."

"Who says I'm not already?" Temurin teases. He tugs her back to him, so close their foreheads are almost touching.

Azula tries to keep a stupid smile off her face, but fails. It's unbelievable. It's absurd. But her hopes are cartwheeling in her stomach and she can't seem to think.

"Are you?" Azula can't help but ask.

"What, at your mercy?" Temurin laughs. "No."

"No?" Azula is irrationally dismayed.

"No."

Temurin kisses her fiercely but protectively, one hand gently supporting her neck through her woolen cap. His teeth graze her lip, and Azula shudders. He kisses her until she's breathless, and then pulls away.

"It seems that you're at my mercy," Temurin smirks.

"Ridiculous peasant."

It's well and truly dark before they return to the mansion.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

_This chapter marks the return of one of my favorite side characters in _Heirs of Ozai. _Enjoy!_

* * *

"What was your favorite song as a child?" Temurin asks. Azula sits up in bed, a map of Qima open in her lap. Temurin lounges in the bedside chair, fingers entwined with Azula's. Her hands are still far too thin.

"My favorite song?" Azula asks, bemused.

"Yes," Temurin grins.

"There wasn't much singing in my family," Azula replies. But her eyes twinkle.

"Come on." Temurin scoots his chair closer. "Tell me."

"I—all right. It was called 'My Country is Red.'"

Temurin blinks. It's a war song. Hardly the kind of song most young girls would like. But of course, Azula hardly had an ordinary childhood.

"Does it go like this?" Temurin hums the melody, which rises and falls like a heartbeat. Perfect accompaniment for the stomping march of iron-clad feet.

"Yes. Now stop," Azula says, flushing. "That kind of song doesn't belong here."

Instead, Temurin stands up, sits on the bed, and starts singing dramatically.

"_My country is red/ our veins are hot/with the blood of the conquered…"_

Still singing, he moves the map off of Azula's lap and raises his eyebrows at 'conquered.' He leans in teasingly.

"_Our ships are vast, my spear is sharp—"_

Azula cackles and slaps her hand over his mouth. "Enough!" she orders, laughing.

"You don't like my singing?" Temurin asks innocently. "I've always been told I sing very well."

"You do sing well," Azula says begrudgingly. She leans in eagerly to kiss him, and Temurin meets her. At times like this, she almost seems like a different person. Or perhaps the person she could have been.

But any abstract thoughts of fate and upbringing quickly fly from Temurin's head as Azula deepens the kiss, pulling Temurin further onto the bed. He braces himself against the mattress, trying not to put any weight on Azula. Her hand runs down his back and slips under his tunic to touch his bare skin. Spirits. It's been…a long time.

With effort, Temurin pulls away, and, before Azula can compel him back, half-falls off the bed. He straightens his overshirt.

"What?" Azula demands.

"You're still in recovery," Temurin says, slightly out of breath.

"So be careful," Azula says wickedly.

Temurin freezes. "That's…really not a good idea. No. Definitely not."

He walks behind his chair and grips it tightly, as if holding onto a physical object will keep his own desires at bay.

"Azula, just a week and a half ago you took an axe to the head. And you're trying to quit yapian—"

"Not trying. I will stop," Azula says sharply.

"Of course," Temurin reassures her. "But you're going through a lot right now. Physically and emotionally. So let's just…go slow."

Azula shoots him her most deadly glare. Temurin meets her narrowed eyes levelly, even though a small, primal part of him wants to run away from her terrifying gaze. How can she be both so gorgeous and so frightening?

"Fine," Azula sighs. She glances out the window to the setting sun. "Aren't you supposed to go have dinner with your family?"

"Yes," Temurin says, halfway grateful to leave the room. He ducks down and kisses Azula quickly on the forehead.

"I'll come back after dinner."

As soon as Temurin walks into the cedar-paneled dining room, he realizes it's a trap. His mother sips a glass of wine at the head of the small table, dressed in ornate grey robes embroidered with curling brown vines. Haojun sits at Hegane's left, hands dark with charcoal, but Jinlian doesn't seem to notice. When Jinlian sees Temurin she blanches.

Because sitting next to Jinlian—or rather, hulking next to her—is Guo.

"What is this, Mother?" The golden glow of happiness that had enveloped Temurin dissolves like mist in harsh sunlight. How dare she?

"Sit, Temurin," Hegane orders.

Temurin swallows the harsh words he wishes he could say. Haojun is looking at him with puzzlement. Poor sweetheart. She still doesn't truly understand.

Slowly, Temurin settles into the chair to Hegane's right. For his daughter's sake, he can sit here for an hour. He can.

"We are all family," Hegane pronounces. She places one hand on Temurin's forearm. "Guo fought for Qima, and so did you. In times like these, we all need to pull together. Present a united front."

Temurin's arm twitches involuntarily under his mother's firm hand. Jinlian looks nauseated and takes a deep draft of wine, while Haojun's lip trembles like she's about to cry. Even Guo looks deeply uncomfortable and out of place. An ox stuck in mud. Temurin's mind flashes to that night, when he threw Guo out of his bed and his home. The younger man had looked terrified. And guilty.

We're all guilty of something, Temurin thinks grimly. His own illegal activity has landed his nephew in house arrest and possibly worse. Azula has proven that people can change even after committing the worst of crimes. Although stealing someone's wife does rank fairly highly on the list of wrongs.

Temurin focuses on Jinlian. How does she feel about this ambush? At his gaze Jinlian purses her lips and lifts her chin in that defiant, regretful way she always does. Temurin waits for the wave of hurt that always comes when he thinks of her betrayal.

It doesn't come.

Instead, for the first time, Temurin feels only pity. And sorrow. Jinlian looks more miserable than he feels, her long dark hair pulled back tightly. She used to wear it loose. Next to her mother, Haojun's eyes are wide and sad. What kind of childhood will she have, if Temurin refuses to speak to her mother's husband? She doesn't deserve this.

Temurin realizes that everyone is staring at him, waiting for his reaction. He's probably been silent too long. He works his jaw. He knows what he wants to say. And he knows what he ought to say. A horrible pressure builds in his chest. Is this what Azula felt like, on the starry bridge she described? A choice. A choice to let go.

"We are a family," Temurin finally says stiffly. He locks eyes with Jinlian. "And the past…is the past."

Jinlian's eyes well with tears. Hegane dabs her face discreetly with her sleeve.

"Well. Well then," Hegane says. "Let's eat."

Hegane and Haojun chatter about their day while Temurin ladles rice to each of them. When he reaches Guo's bowl, he meets the younger man's eyes.

"How is your arm healing?" Temurin asks. "No swelling?"

"No. Thank you," Guo says.

"It was a nasty break," Temurin says, hoping he conceals his schadenfreude. He's not sure he succeeds.

As the meal winds down, Haojun starts to get more irritable: a sure sign that she's tired.

"I'll take her to bed," Temurin excuses himself. His chair makes a scraping sound against the floor as he stands. But he can still hear a faint rumble, so quiet at first he thinks it's his imagination.

"What is that?" His mother frowns.

The stutter grows louder and louder until it's practically overhead. Temurin hurries to the window, jerking the curtains away.

An airship emblazoned with the symbol of the United Republic hovers over the snow-covered lawn. As Temurin watches, a platform lowers from the bottom of the ship; he can make out tiny figures holding torches.

"The Yu Dao delegation is early," Hegane remarks.

"Where did they get an airship?" Jinlian scowls.

Temurin feels cold sweat on the back of his neck. They're here already. The people who will decide Jirou's fate.

He and Guo flank Hegane as they march out into the evening snow to greet their guests. His mother has raided the former Mayor Sota's closet again, digging out an impressive black cape with white fur. Colors of mourning and neutrality. Temurin glances at the lit windows of the mansion. He hopes Azula will stay out of sight.

A woman dressed in a scarlet cloak leads the group from Yu Dao. Her hair is tied up elaborately, and she has an air of haughty confidence that makes Temurin sure she is the leader. The two clusters halt in front of each other, lit by torches.

"Welcome to Qima," Hegane says warmly in the darkness. "I am Hegane, the mayor of this town, and leader of those who support the United Republic. We are delighted to have you here, although we did not expect you so early."

"I am Fengxia, and I serve the United Republic Council in Yu Dao." says the scarlet-cloaked woman. She raises one eyebrow. "Qima may be small, but across the world people speak of how Qima resisted oppression and declared its loyalty to the Republic. The Council feels you merit swift attention."

"We are grateful," Hegane smiles.

While Temurin's mother escorts the party inside and out of the frigid weather, Temurin glances back to the airship. There are about ten people on the ground. How many people are still in the airship? Will it be enough to keep both the injured Fire Nation soldiers and Crooked Zhao's rebels at bay?

The next half hour is filled with flowery pleasantries and mutual greetings that leave Temurin bone-tired. Politics may be a game of life or death, but it's a boring match. After what seems like an eternity, Temurin leads the delegation to the suite of rooms at the back of the mansion. He walks next to Fengxia. Her lips are painted a bloody red, but it doesn't conceal the fact that she is young, only around Temurin's age. She must be very intelligent or very well connected to have risen so high in the new Republic.

Fengxia removes her scarlet cloak and drapes it casually over her arm. To Temurin's mild shock, her abdomen swells gently with the unmistakable fullness of pregnancy. Quickly, he averts his eyes so he doesn't appear rude.

"Aren't you the one who allowed your nephew contact rebels and criminals?" Fengxia asks abruptly. Her brown eyes glint.

Temurin narrows his eyes. "I wouldn't say I allowed him to do so."

"Your nephew has caused quite a problem for the United Republic," Fengxia says sharply. "Some want him to die as a traitor."

Temurin's heart freezes. "Surely that's too extreme," he says. "He's only a boy."

"A boy who could have started a three-way war." Fengxia shakes her head, unforgiving. Her jade earrings rattle.

"What I want to know—and what I hope your nephew will tell me—is how many other rebels lurk in the United Republic," she continues. "I need names, I need contacts, and I need the whereabouts of other rebel camps."

"Jirou doesn't know anything," Temurin pleads with her. They stop at the sliding doors leading to the newcomers' quarters.

"Well that is very unfortunate. For all of us." Fengxia's mouth sets like she's been assigned an unpleasant task. Nevertheless, she turns away coolly. Two of her companions open the doors for her.

Temurin is left staring at her red-embroidered back, filled with a chill certainty. Unless he does something, Jirou will not leave this mansion alive.

He needs to talk to Azula.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

_Hello all! This is NOT the last chapter._

* * *

Temurin stands by the bedroom window with his back facing Azula.

"Unless I give Fengxia information about Crooked Zhao and Mila, the United Republic will sentence Jirou to death," he says bitterly.

Azula stays silent. She knows what's coming. Her heart feels fragile: a cup dropped, shattered, and repaired so many times it's a spiderweb of cracks and glue. Can she survive another heartbreak? She touches the bandages concealing her head wound.

"I have to turn myself in," Temurin says. "If I tell Fengxia everything I know about Crooked Zhao—where Mila and Yu-chen's brothel is, who else they employ, how Zhao runs her supply chain—then maybe Fengxia will let Jirou go.

"But I need your help, Azula. Last time I tried to negotiate a deal, I ended up being beaten in an alley."

Azula laughs despite herself. How dare Temurin make her laugh at a time like this. Temurin smiles with her, and Azula feels the glue in her heart begin to loosen. What if she loses him?

Temurin tentatively reaches out and takes her hand.

"I know you probably think I'm being stupid and sentimental, Azula, but this is something I have to do. I have to save Jirou. And frankly…I'm guilty. Not of rebellion. But who knows how many people I've hurt?"

"I understand," Azula says. Shouldn't she be angry? She grips Temurin's hand, hard. His skin is warm, dark, and smooth. Somehow, just touching him is comforting.

"You do?"

"Yes," Azula says simply. Even a week ago, she wouldn't have. But now…

"You have to set things right," Azula explains. "This isn't just about Jirou. You want to turn yourself in, serve your time. Make up for what you've done." Even though it hurts. Even though it's not fair.

"I…yes." Temurin looks shocked.

"Write down everything you know about Crooked Zhao, just to get your thoughts straight," Azula instructs. She grins grimly. "Then burn it. And sell the information to get yourself and Jirou the lightest sentences possible."

"I will. Fengxia seems tough, but not unreasonable."

"Wait. Fengxia?" The name is familiar to Azula, a faint echo seeping through haze of the past six months. Fengxia…from Yu Dao…

"She's younger than I am. Bright red lipstick, Colonial attire. And about six months pregnant. Do you know her?" Temurin asks.

It clicks.

_Azula sits at the back of Zuko's wedding reception, disguised as an ancient Fire Nation matriarch. Happy couples stumble across the dance floor; Zuko and Mai have long since left. The Water Tribe boy leads a small troupe of eager followers through the motions of some savage dance. By far the most striking pair on the dancefloor is that bastard, Akira, and a noble-looking woman from Yu Dao. Fengxia. Azula's half-brother leans in and whispers in his dance partner's ear. Azula narrows her eyes. What is Akira planning? But then Fengxia smiles slyly, and they both head off for the palace. Azula rolls her eyes. Nothing of import happening tonight…_

"Azula?"

"You said she's pregnant," Azula says, mind racing. Perhaps there's a way out of this. They could use Azula's knowledge to blackmail Fengxia, get her to give Temurin and Jirou a more lenient sentence. Zuko would probably adopt his half-brother's spawn, but Fengxia need not know that; for all the Yu Dao representative knows, Zuko would kill Fengxia to prevent the birth of another royal heir. All Azula has to do is threaten to reveal the father of Fengxia's child, and Temurin and Jirou will walk free.

It appears the spirits have given Azula and Temurin an out. Azula's lips curve into a wicked smile. This will be even easier than when she manipulated the head of the Dai Li in Ba Sing Se.

"Azula, what are you thinking about?" Temurin asks impatiently. "Do you know Fengxia?"

Azula smiles broadly. She looks into his eyes and opens her mouth to tell him the good news. Temurin's face is trusting, if a bit irritated by her long silence. He came to her for advice.

Temurin is trying to be a better person, and he trusts her to help him.

Suddenly, Azula is overwhelmed with shame. She closes her eyes. Blackmail? Threats and lies?

That was the old Azula.

"There is a way I can get you both off free," Azula says without looking at Temurin. A tear escapes from the corner of her eye. "But it's dishonorable. Maybe even cruel."

There's a long pause. Then Temurin pulls her into an embrace.

"Then don't tell me," he whispers. "Don't tell me."

Azula clutches Temurin tightly, pressing her face into his neck.

"I'm so sorry, Azula," Temurin chokes. "I know it's not fair, when we just…when we only now realized…"

"I could come with you," Azula says, pulling away. "They'll probably take you to Yu Dao. I could find a job in the city, and-"

Temurin shakes his head. "Azula. You need time to rest. And once you have…you shouldn't waste your life waiting for me to atone for my mistakes. I could be imprisoned for a decade or more. You're so young. Be happy. _Do something good._"

Azula trembles. Do something good? Doesn't he understand that it's only when she's around her friends that she even feels the urge to try? She can't do this alone.

"You won't be alone," Temurin says as if he can hear her thoughts. "If you stay here, you have Wakaba. My mother. Even Jinlian is less prickly these days.

"Or you could return to the Fire Nation. You've changed. You're not a danger to your brother anymore."

"Are you telling me…not to wait for you?" Azula asks slowly.

Temurin doesn't say anything, but she can read it in his eyes.

"I promise we'll see each other again," Temurin promises. His voice cracks. "But I can't ask you to wait for me, I'm sorry, but you can't…"

Azula kisses him. His lips are salty, whether from his tears or hers she doesn't know. Why is it that every time she chooses the honorable path it means leaving someone she loves? Temurin's mouth is desperate, both of them are crying, it's as if Azula can taste Temurin's very soul.

"I'm sorry," Temurin whispers again and again. He hugs her to him like she's the most precious thing in the world, like if he lets go she'll float away. How is it possible that he cares this much? But they have to let go.

"Fine. I won't wait for you," Azula promises. At that, Temurin holds her even more fiercely.

But Azula knows her promise is a lie.

Azula and Wakaba stand next to Hegane, necks inclined upward as the grey United Republic airship slowly rises into the air. Azula bites her lip as she envisions Temurin and Jirou locked in a dark hold. She made the right choice in choosing not to blackmail Fengxia. Didn't she?

"It's only three years," Wakaba says. Then she winces at her insensitivity. "Sorry."

Azula's cracked heart trembles.

"No, you're right," Azula says. "A lot can happen in three years."

"Frankly, a United Republic military labor camp is better than my son deserves," Hegane spits. Azula and Wakaba look at their mayor sidelong. They know she is only speaking out of the pain of betrayal.

"What will you do, Nekana?" Wakaba asks.

It's a good question. Everyone Azula was traveling with is gone. Altan is dead, his grave only a few meters away from where they stand now; the guilty unreality of his death still makes her knees weak. Temurin and Jirou will be laboring in Yu Dao under the close watch of the United Republic army.

When Azula fled the Fire Nation, she was only looking for a place to disappear. But now she's looking for a place to live.

_Do something good._

Qima is as good a place as any.

"I'll stay here," Azula decides. She pulls out the farming catalogue. A paper map of the Qima River sticks out of the notebook.

"Wakaba, I have an idea. And I'm going to need your help."


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

_**-Three Years Later- **_

Water.

Azula stands atop a swaying bridge. Beneath her the river rages. Thick rain whips her dark cloak to the side, and raindrops pelt the bridge and dot the choppy water below. Rain plasters Azula's cropped hair against her skull; rivulets of water drip off the short peak of hair at the base of her neck and run under her collar. Her hand tightens on the rope railing, all her attention focused on the river. The mountain snows have melted, and the river swells with fresh, icy runoff. Slowly, water creeps over the edges of the banks.

Earth.

Squinting through the spray, Azula eyes the canal branching off from the river, running south and east towards the dry Broken Plains. A wall of rock separates the dry riverbed from the turgid waters. It took the Qima villagers almost a year to dig that canal, even with the assistance of two earthbenders hired from Taiyang. Now the rock is cleared, the channels are carved, the gully lies empty and waiting. Still, in a moment of doubt, Azula stays her hand. She glances to her left, and Wakaba meets her gaze reassuringly. Wakaba nods. Azula raises her fist into the air.

Fire.

A torrent of orange flame bursts from Azula's fist, tall and bright as a beacon fire. Across the river, at the borders of the canal and farther south, smaller torchfires and beacons flicker into life. They defy the downpour. Azula breathes in deeply. She lets the warmth of the unseen sun build in her stomach while all the other fires wait. Then Azula intensifies her fire to blue. Torches hiss; dynamite lights; sparks crackle and skip across rock embankments. Azula and Wakaba grip the rain-soaked rope with cold hands.

Air.

With a boom louder than thunder, plumes of black smoke explode at the canal opening. Rock flies and dust clouds. In the distance, another dark pillar rises. And another. And another. Almost three years of measurements, calculations, and requests for funding rely on this moment. Lightning spikes the sky.

The Qima River splits in two. Half rushes into the canal, the redirected water quickly fills the artificial riverbed and flows eagerly downstream and to the west. The canal banks are lined with stone. They hold.

Wakaba squints through a spyglass.

"It's splitting down the irrigation channels," she says. "I think…I think it's working."

As if in confirmation, shouts of victory pierce the storming gale. Azula leans over the edge of the suspension bridge, almost losing herself in the rush of the water beneath her. They did it. They all did it. She whoops, and the wind carries her scream to join the yells of her teammates.

"We still have to check downriver," Wakaba reminds Azula.

"It's going to be perfect," Azula grins. She's soaked to the bone, but she's never felt more of a conqueror.

For the next four hours, Azula and Wakaba tromp through the rain and muddy banks, checking up on the dams and channels that funnel the Qima River west. Water flows deep and fast through the earthbender-crafted gullies. At each checkpoint, the two women greet the people who manned the explosions. Many of the laborers are Qima villagers, but many others are from different parts of the United Republic: Yu Dao, Taiyang, and even Kyoshi Island. Two of the workers are Fire Nation soldiers who stayed in Qima after Temurin healed their injuries. There are no unexpected leaks or breaches, no overflowed banks, and no mudslides. Even Wakaba, who usually is either timid or dour, begins to smile.

Azula reviews her calculations in her head. With the additional water being sent to the Broken Plains west of Qima, the cracked, desert-like soil should become fertile farmland within a year. Fields that were desiccated under the boots and fire of the Fire Nation will be green again; thousands more people will be fed. The Broken Plains could become the rice bowl of the United Republic. People who were burned out of their homes during the Hundred-Year War could move here, and…Azula checks herself.

_Remember to think small_, she reminds herself. Grandiose plans have burnt her before. For now, it will be enough that Qima River won't flood the village when the mountain snows melt.

It's less of a village than it was three years ago when Azula, Temurin, Altan, and Jirou arrived. Azula follows the outline of Wakaba's sturdy back through the pouring rain and notes all the new buildings erected around the main street. Ramshackle boarding houses, clumsily constructed, house the men and women who came to work on the Qima Dam. A gaudy green restaurant advertises authentic Ba Sing Se dim sum. The curved roof of a new bar streams with rainwater that splatters onto the dirt road.

Azula's mouth tips grimly. Thanks to Hegane's insistent checkups, the bar does not have a back room devoted to yapian.

Finally, they trudge past the newest shopfront: a sober façade that painted with the characters for _Doctor and Pharmacy_. It's possibly the most hideous building on the block, but Azula's chest warms beneath her soaked robes. Wakaba turns and glances at Azula, and even though Azula keeps her face expressionless, Wakaba rolls her eyes. That's one funny thing Azula has learned about friends—they can tell when she's lying! And she thought that was impossible. In any case, there's no hiding anything from Wakaba.

Hegane waits for them inside the entrance hall, flanked by her young scribe.

"Well, Nekana?" she asks before Azula and Wakaba have even removed their cloaks. "Should I expect the mansion to be underwater by tomorrow? Or did your mission succeed?"

Azula bows shallowly. Water from her cloak puddles on the floor. Really, Qima is hardly a metropolis, but surely Hegane could afford a few more servants.

"I could never fail you, Madame Mayor," Azula says smugly.

"Our preliminary check shows that the dam is working," Wakaba adds. "The river is flowing at twelve meters per second, and the offshoot is more than five meters deep at-"

"Mother, surely we should let Qima's top engineers dry off before they report to you," says a familiar voice. Azula's glad her head is still lowered, because she can't prevent a smirk from curving her lips. She composes herself before she rises.

Temurin stands slightly behind Hegane, accompanied by Haojun. Three years ago he kept his hair short, but now his black hair is twisted into a high bun and fastened with a simple pin. Working outside tanned his skin almost Water Tribe-dark. Azula doesn't mind. Although Temurin's robes don't show it, heavy labor has added lean muscles to Temurin's formerly slender frame. Temurin winks at her behind his mother's back. Azula flushes.

"Yes, go dry off," Hegane orders. "You're dripping on the carpet, and we can't have it ruined."

"Why can't it be ruined?" Haojun asks. She clutches the notebook she carries around town, pages chock-full of drawings and diagrams of the river. There's one with an analytical mind, but with a pure heart. Unlike Azula herself at that age.

"Well…" Hegane pauses, as if deciding something. She purses her lips. Then shrugs.

"I was going to tell you at the celebratory dinner tonight, but I might as well share the news now," she says, not bothering to keep her voice down.

"As you know, the Council in Yu Dao is deeply interested in our project. And since we've used benders and designers from the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation, the Mayor of Yu Dao apparently started referring to the Qima Dam as the 'Qima Unity Dam.' News leaflets across the _world _have written about us.

"So, the Mayor asked if Qima would host the annual Republic Dialogue between the United Republic, the Earth Kingdom, and the Fire Nation. I agreed."

Azula stares at Hegane blankly. The plink of water droplets to the carpet fades away. The Republic Dialogue? Is she insane? Dozens of people will descend on Qima, the leaders of each nation, the Avatar…

Zuko.

Azula's hands tremble. Her knees are weak. She hasn't seen Zuko in over three years. How can she face him? Even with her cropped hair someone will recognize her, she'll have to hide again, she'll have to leave Qima, _spirits_…

"Nekana?" Wakaba asks, touching her shoulder lightly. "Are you all right?"

"Just a chill," Azula says. It isn't a lie. She feels chilled to her bones. Everything she's built, everything she's strived for, it's all going to crumble. Her face, her past, they'll always come back to haunt her. What must Zuko think of her? The last he heard, she conquered Bahasa…

As Wakaba guides her to a side room with a fire, Azula catches Temurin's eye. He nods in acknowledgement of her wordless command. They have to talk.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

_In my first draft, I titled this chapter "Should I stay or should I go now?" ..._

* * *

Nekana seems off all evening. Rice wine is flowing, the food is adequate, and a woman belts out a victorious ballad, but when Wakaba leans forward she sees Nekana sitting quiet and pale to Mayor Hegane's right. Not even Haojun's suggested "improvements" to the dam can elicit more than a weak smile from Nekana—a sure sign that something is wrong. Usually Nekana regards Temurin's daughter with an amused respect. About halfway through the dinner, Nekana slips away. Wakaba immediately flicks her eyes to Temurin, who also tracks Nekana's departure. But he stays in his seat and turns to chat with Hegane's new scribe.

Wakaba excuses herself. Exiting through a side door, she shivers when she leaves the warmth of the dining hall, but feels relieved. She has always hated large crowds. When she was the mayor's beloved granddaughter, Wakaba was the center of sycophantic attention; even now, Wakaba would still prefer to read, ponder how to design a longer suspension bridge, or even review the laborers' salaries and make sure everything is in order. There is still so much work to be done. But instead of returning to her own room, Wakaba walks briskly to Nekana's quarters. She knocks on the wooden door.

"Nekana, are you in there?" Wakaba asks.

The door cracks open, and Nekana appears: unsteady, uneasy, and slightly green.

"Nekana, what's wrong?" Wakaba pleads. It's not that Nekana never cries; to the contrast, her friend tends to burst out in tears of anger when things don't go her way. But this pale, nauseated weakness…it takes Wakaba back to the days when she first met Nekana. Back when Nekana was still taking yapian.

"I can't tell you," Nekana says. But she opens the door wide. "Come in. I could use some company."

"It has something to do with the Republic Dialogue, doesn't it?" Wakaba asks. She rifles through Nekana's store of high-quality tea leaves and selects a Fire Nation sencha. For a poor Republic engineer, Nekana has expensive tastes.

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Nekana snaps, sitting on the bed. Then she sighs. "Sorry."

Wakaba wordlessly hands Nekana the full teapot, and Nekana obligingly places her hands on either side of the ceramic to boil the water. After a few minutes of slow, consistent heat, steam curls from the spout and Wakaba adds the dried sencha leaves.

"So, when should I expect your wedding announcement?" Wakaba asks. She sips her tea demurely.

"What?" Nekana says with alarm.

"I can't talk about what's bothering you. So I changed the topic. When are you and Temurin going to make it official?"

To Wakaba's horror, Nekana's eyes well with tears.

"Oh no…" Wakaba says feebly. "Nekana, I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," Nekana waves her off. "I'm just being sentimental. I know what I have to do. I just don't want to do it."

Wakaba's mind spins rapidly. Nekana's upset about the Republic Dialogues, and it has something to do with Temurin. Why would the Dialogues bother her? The dam will gain more publicity, and Nekana will meet high-level people from across the world. Unless meeting people is the problem…

"I know you said you don't want to discuss what's bothering you," Wakaba says slowly. "But if you don't want to be here for the Dialogues, you can always…take a vacation. And then come back."

Nekana sniffs and gulps down some tea. "That's true. It would look suspicious, but it's possible."

Not for the first time, Wakaba wonders what Nekana did in her past that led her to flee all the way to Qima. Is someone still searching for her?

"Can I ask…are you in danger?" Wakaba probes gently.

"Not in the way you think," Nekana replies. She settles cross-legged on the bed.

"Essentially, Wakaba…let's imagine, hypothetically, that you once tried to steal something from someone."

"Let's call this person Li," Wakaba cuts in helpfully. Nekana scowls with deadly force.

"Fine. So say that once I tried to steal Li's most valuable possession. And for a while I succeeded, but eventually Li got it back. I tried again and again to steal what he loved, even to the point where I hurt Li, but he kept forgiving me. Eventually, I realized that Li actually cared for me. Even though I tried to ruin his life. And so I decided to leave Li alone, even though he wanted me to stay with him. I've never apologized to him properly for hating him for years, and I've never told him I care about him, and he still has every reason to hate me. If I confront Li, it might mean I have to leave Qima. So if I had the opportunity to talk to Li…should I?"

"This is an insane scenario," Wakaba says. "So you hated Li and you loved him? At the same time?"

"Yes," Nekana nods vigorously.

"But you say he forgave you?"

"Yes."

"If Li forgave you once, he'll probably do it again," Wakaba says reasonably. "So yes…you should talk to him. " _Who is Li? _Wakaba wants to scream. But she holds her tongue.

"I know. But the thought of seeing him again…it makes me nauseous. It's so risky."

"I don't think that's it," Wakaba corrects her. "You're smart, Nekana. You know 'Li' won't harm you. There's no physical risk. So what are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid!" Nekana trembles.

"You _are._" Wakaba rises and pours more tea. "And you should ask yourself why."

Temurin's half-finished shopfront is flooded with rainwater. Grimacing, he pokes the waxcloth that covers part of the roof like a tent. The tarp hangs low with collected water. At his touch the cloth folds and dumps rainwater onto the floor, neatly missing the bucket Temurin placed under the waxcloth. Temurin sighs. But even slightly waterlogged, his home-to-be is far more comfortable than the communal tents he lived in with Jirou outside of Yu Dao. It's also more convenient than the old family home; his shop is nearer to the center of town, and it brings Haojun's two homes closer together. The shack also is devoid of the sour memories Temurin associates with the house he shared with Jinlian.

This house is somewhere he can make new memories.

Giving up on the wet front room, Temurin heads to the full-constructed back bedroom and settles on a pallet to meditate. The intimate clamor of life in Qima is still disconcerting. He wonders how Jirou is doing. With nothing else to do, Jirou had finally applied himself to studying every night in the bunkhouse, taught by Temurin in the candlelight. After two and a half years in a desolate labor camp, it took a lot of courage for Jirou to choose to attend medical school in a crowded city like Yu Dao. Temurin prays that his nephew is still doing well.

Undoing his topknot, Temurin lets his hair fall around his shoulders, releasing the tension in his scalp. Temurin breathes in and out. With each exhalation, Temurin envisions letting go of the things he cannot control. The torrential rain. Jirou's medical studies in Yu Dao. How his mother still looks at him with disappointment. The Republic Dialogues. Instead, Temurin calls forth what he _can _influence.

Temurin has been given a second chance to make a life here in Qima: to be a father, a son, and a doctor. And perhaps…a second chance at being a husband.

Inhale. Exhale. Even though he tries to keep his mind blank, a smile comes to his lips when Temurin remembers the night he returned to Qima.

"_The wayward son returns," Azula quipped, stepping onto the main road. She blocked his path, stronger and more beautiful than he remembered, no longer wasted away by yapian but muscular and healthy. _

"_I have," Temurin said cautiously, trying to conceal his delight. He couldn't assume she still felt the same way she did more than two years ago; their letters have been warm and friendly but nothing more. And his priority had to be being a father to Haojun._

"_Aren't you going to kiss me hello?" Azula asked imperiously._

"_I wouldn't dare presume," Temurin said, flushing. "Besides—"_

_And then she was in his arms, her mouth on his, and his bag fell to the dirt as they held each other and the years collapsed._

"Temurin?"

Temurin's eyes fly open as Azula pushes aside the curtain into the back room.

"Kana," he rises and kisses her lips softly. "I was expecting you earlier."

"I had tea with Wakaba," Azula says tensely. "She thinks that I should leave town during the Republic Dialogues."

"Did you tell her?" Temurin asks, shocked.

"Of course not. I made up a ridiculous scenario and she advised me based on that." Azula crosses her arms and paces the tiny room.

"Well, leaving is a reasonable suggestion," Temurin starts. Although not one he'd recommend.

"She thinks I'm scared of Zuko!" Azula bursts out. "Have you ever heard anything more absurd?"

Temurin grabs his hairpin off the sleeping mat and shapes his hair in a bun.

"What?" Azula asks. "You only do that when things are serious."

"Really?" Temurin pushes the pin through his hair. "Well, things are serious. I think you _are _afraid of your brother. Not afraid of Zuko, precisely. But of how you feel about him. Or how he might perceive you."

"What does that mean?" Azula demands, looking guilty.

Temurin's stomach turns. Her complex about Zuko is so strong she can't even see it. As far as Temurin can tell, Azula's feelings for and about her brother are so twisted that Zuko is barely even a person in her mind. He's a symbol of her greatest failure, her most profound forgiveness, her deepest envy, and her first experience of love. Apparently, a future Zuko crossed time and space to reach her in the Spirit World. Zuko is the door to her darkest past and her most hopeful future.

"How do you feel when you think of seeing him again?" Temurin asks.

"Sick."

"Why?"

"I've done some pretty terrible things to him," Azula says bitterly. "And I can't help but think of all those things when I see him."

"And?"

"And I'm not that person anymore, and I don't want to…regress. I want him to see what I've tried to do here."

"You want him to be proud of you," Temurin says gently.

"I—yes." Tears stream quietly down Azula's face. She clenches her fists. "I want to apologize properly to his face. I don't want to go back the way I came. And yes. I want—I want Zuko to be proud of me.

"I used to hate Zuko. But then, for a while, before I met you and Altan and Jirou, he was the only thing—he was the only person who—who I knew loved me. The only person I actually cared about. He was my guiding star."

"That's a lot of feelings wrapped around one person." Temurin takes Azula's hand. "No wonder you're nervous to see him."

"I feel like I'm explaining this badly," Azula sniffs. "Zuko is not the only person I care about anymore. I have Wakaba and Hegane and my coworkers." She touches his cheek.

"I have you, Temurin."

"I know, beloved." Temurin catches her fingers and kisses them, crushing the stubborn bud of jealousy that blooms in his chest. "I know you love me.

"Maybe it's better to let your past relationship with Zuko go," Temurin suggests. "What do you want _now?_"

"Now?" Azula bites her lip. "I want to apologize. I want us-to be siblings. As if we grew up in a normal family. I want him to be proud of how I've changed."

"If I had to guess, Kana, I think that's what Zuko wants too." Temurin tucks a strand of hair behind Azula's ear, hair she's kept deliberately short. "So stay. Face your fears. Talk to your brother."

Azula shivers in his arms.

"All right." Azula pulls his hairpin out again and runs her fingers lightly through his hair.

"You know, I tease you about being stupid, but you're actually very smart," Azula remarks softly. "At least when it comes to feelings."

Temurin laughs and pulls her into a sturdy embrace. Her head fits perfectly against his neck.

Azula may be less afraid, but a bubble of terror rises in Temurin's heart. When Zuko comes, it's fully possible that Azula will realize her destiny still lies in the Fire Nation. Someone as brilliant as Azula shouldn't languish here in Qima. Even if she loves him, she should be free to go.

_Marry me_, Temurin wishes he could say. He tightens his grip around the woman he loves. _Marry me and stay here_. He could trap her here, trap her with his honest promises of love and fidelity.

But Azula is like the phoenix of legend: she's risen from the ashes. It's time for her to fly free.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

Zuko stands at the window of his airship, surveying the new channels of the Qima River. The dam project stretches for miles and has completely changed the landscape of the Broken Plains; it must have taken a team of geniuses to design it.

"Do you see the river, Kazuto?" he says to his son. "It used to be _one river _that flooded, but some very smart people figured out how to divide it into lots of small rivers to feed the soil." Kazuto, who stands with his hands and nose pressed against the glass, looks up at Zuko with excitement.

"Mama says rivers are boring!" Kazuto says happily. He's dressed in all red, his fine brown hair combed into a traditional topknot, the picture of a miniature Fire Nation prince.

Zuko laughs and places his hands on Kazuto's shoulders. "Mama says a _lot _of things are boring. Do you know what she doesn't find boring?"

"Me?" Kazuto holds his breath.

"You!" Zuko pokes his son's nose. And it's no wonder. When Kazuto first entered the palace, all Zuko and Mai could think about was the scandal it would cause. They didn't even consider how much joy the boy would bring. They couldn't have imagined if they tried.

"Firelord Zuko. Prince Kazuto." Commander Ong approaches and bows deeply. "On your order, we will descend to Qima."

"You have my permission, Commander," Zuko smiles. "I'm excited to meet the engineers behind this project. Aren't you?"

"Of course, my lord," Commander Ong says dutifully. He bows again at the waist, hands in the proper position, and backs out of the room.

Zuko turns back to the window. He knows Kazuto is young, but it is never too early to expose a prince to the process of governing. Zuko sets his jaw. He wants to make sure Kazuto grows up feeling that he can express his opinions freely and without fear. Kazuto will never be punished for speaking up for what he thinks is right. He won't be stifled and abused like Zuko was. He won't be forced into adulthood too soon like Azula was.

"Daddy, you look broody again," Kazuto says gravely.

Zuko snorts with laughter. "Where did you hear that word?" he demands, although he thinks he knows the answer.

"Mama!" Kazuto screams. Zuko rolls his eyes. Of course it was Mai.

They only left the Fire Nation two days ago, but Zuko already misses Mai so much it hurts. It just doesn't feel right to wake up without her. Even if she hates the mornings. Zuko smirks to himself as the airship descends over the verdant countryside.

Leaving Kazuto at the window, Zuko circles over to his desk and reviews his notes for the day. Today should be mostly formalities; he'll meet Mayor Morishita of Yu Dao, General Xia from the Earth Kingdom, and Mayor Hegane of Qima. Morishita is suitably thankful for Zuko and Aang's help in forming the United Republic, but has been stubborn lately, probably to satisfy anti-Fire Nation factions within the United Republic. Zuko has dealt with Xia before and dislikes her heartily.

It's the first time he'll meet Hegane. His informants report that she's a stern woman of Fire Nation ethnicity who hates any implication she is loyal to the Fire Nation. In any case, Zuko anticipates this meeting will merely reaffirm friendly relations; he'll make the same apologies for the Fire Nation's actions in Qima and the Colonies and promise to pursue peace. The real negotiations about ceding new territory to the Republic will start tomorrow, once Aang arrives. Zuko shakes his head. Aang and Katara have been honeymooning in the Southern Water Tribe for over a month now, and they'll probably be disgusting when they finally arrive.

At the thought of Aang, Zuko's heart twinges. They aren't far from Bahasa, where Aang and Katara chased Azula away a few years ago. He had been so furious with Aang. But their friendship had survived Zuko's temper, just as it had many times before. Aang's patience and forgiveness holds the four nations together.

The airship settles on the ground with a gentle thud.

"Okay, Kazuto," Zuko says. "We're going to meet some important people today. When we first meet them, you stay with Commander Ong and your tutor and just listen, okay? We can talk about any questions you have later."

"I will listen with my ears, not talk with my mouth," Kazuto says solemnly. Zuko stifles a grin. Kazuto's voice was once choked by fear, but no longer.

"Good."

The royal procession assembles on a field dusted with the new green of spring. They march with purpose towards the mayoral mansion, Zuko in the middle of the soldiers. He has always hated palanquins. Besides, today the Fire Nation comes not as a conquering enemy, but as a supportive friend. Cries and heralds signal the Firelord's arrival, and two grey-clad servants swing open the gates to the mansion, welcoming Zuko into the central courtyard. Mayor Hegane and her household stand at a dais on the opposite side of the green, assembled to greet him.

A middle-aged woman dressed in robes of silver steps forward, bowing shallowly. The embroidery resembles the intricate tattoos Zuko has seen on Northern water tribesmen, but her hairstyle is clearly Earth Kingdom. Only her pallor and proper Fire Nation bow betray Mayor Hegane's Fire Nation heritage.

"Welcome, Firelord Zuko," Mayor Hegane says. "Your presence here honors us."

"Thank you for inviting me here," Zuko says graciously. "It is our pleasure—"

He stops. Behind Hegane, standing on the dais with the servants, is Azula. Her hair is cropped short and she wears robes of green, but it's her.

"I see you've noticed the chief engineer behind the Qima Dam," Hegane says archly. "Nekana, come forward."

Zuko stands dumb and immobile. She's alive. She's alive, and she…built the dam? She's here. In the Colonies. Breathing.

Azula looks to an older man at her right, then approaches quickly. She bows deeply, form flawless.

"Firelord Zuko," she says. "It is my honor to meet you."

"I—" Zuko's voice rasps and cuts out. "The honor is mine."

His heart pounds so hard he can't bear it.

Zuko turns to Hegane. "You'll have to excuse me for a minute. Guards—stay here." He turns, smiles reassuringly at Kazuto, and walks back out the gate and turns a corner. When he reaches a place he thinks he can't be seen, he collapses to the ground.

Zuko weeps.

After all these years, she's here. Why didn't she reach out to him? So many times he was afraid he would never see her again. So many nights he wondered if his dream of Azula repentant was real or just his imagination. And yet she's alive, and not only alive, but the engineer behind one of the greatest projects ever built. She looks well. He wants to run back into the courtyard and hug her and listen to her story.

But now is not the time. Clearly, no one here knows who she is, and Zuko won't be the one to blow her cover. Zuko dries his eyes on his sleeve. He stands.

"My apologies, Mayor Hegane," he says upon reentering the courtyard. "I thought I left something outside, but I've found it. Please, introduce me to your engineers."

The next few hours are both excruciating and fascinating. For the first time in her life, Azula watches Zuko perform as Firelord. He holds himself like a Firelord, speaks boldly of his vision for the United Republic, and even manages to make Hegane smile.

He is also incredibly socially awkward.

It makes sense, Azula smiles to herself. As a child Zuko was never Ozai's favorite and was never taken to Council meetings. In fact, Zuko's infamous misreading of a social situation earned him public humiliation and scar that would follow him forever. While Azula learned strategy, Zuko traveled to the most desolate parts of the world, interacting solely with those under his command. Before he became Firelord, Zuko never had to be a diplomat. Time and time again, Azula winces at Zuko's blunt candor, his sharp tone, and the way his fingers still twitch when he's irritated, like he wants to blast someone away with fire.

Yet for all that, the key players from the Earth Kingdom and the United Republic seem to listen to him. They argue, but the room goes silent when Zuko speaks. Perhaps it's just the crown resting on Zuko's head. Or perhaps Zuko has found his own brash leadership style.

"How are you doing?" Temurin murmurs as he passes Azula's spot against the wall. As one of the lead engineers on the Qima Dam, she has to be seen; fortunately, it seems no one expects her to engage deeply in conversation. If she spends too much time standing next to Zuko, someone is sure to spot the resemblance.

"Fine," Azula replies. "He didn't arrest me on sight."

"I knew he wouldn't," Temurin says. He brushes her palm slightly with the tips of his fingers, as if he'd like to take her hand but cannot.

Wakaba doesn't like the way the Firelord looks at Nekana. First, he seemed surprised by her. Was he shocked the chief engineer is a woman? When the Firelord returns to the courtyard, he looks at her hungrily, eyes flitting to her when he thinks no one is watching. Wakaba narrows her eyes over her evening cup of tea and classifies the Firelord as a creep.

Temurin holds onto each moment. It's possible that when Azula reunites with her brother tonight, she'll realize she belongs in the Fire Nation. Is her job here enough? Are her friendships enough? Is _he _enough? Temurin cannot blame Azula if she realizes her destiny leads her back home.

Who would choose to be a commoner if they could be a Princess?

And yet, and yet...Temurin can't shake the feeling that she may be happier in Qima than in a palace. Still, he carves Azula's face into his memory and steels himself to say goodbye.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

Out here in the country, Zuko can see the stars.

He stands at the window of his airship, gazing out into the night sky. The stars stretch from horizon to horizon, like holes poked in a dark tent hanging overhead. They shimmer in tune with the quiver of Zuko's heart. A dark cloud floats in from western sea, flickering with contained lightning. Kazuto is asleep. All is still.

"My Lord." Zuko hears Commander Ong enters the room but doesn't turn.

"Two people have appeared at the bottom of the airship and are asking to be let up."

"Two?" Zuko asks, surprised. It seems Azula has an ally. The tall, glum woman? The thin, dark-skinned man?

"Shall I allow them to pass?"

"Yes," Zuko orders. "And Commander—no one is to speak of this. These people were never here."

"Of course, my Lord." Ong departs, leaving Zuko with only his nerves.

Three years. Three years she's been gone. In the back of Zuko's mind lurks a traitorous suspicion. Except for at Bahasa three years ago, Azula hasn't tried to contact him. It's possible that she's up to her old ways, that she's lying in wait to hatch some scheme. Yet as soon as this fear bubbles up, Zuko quashes it. He feels ashamed under the open starlight.

Zuko has watched Azula all day and it seems that his sister has reinvented herself completely. She is respected by her colleagues and excellent at her work. She is safe from the murderous whims of General Xia and the Earth King and protected from the intrigues of the Fire Nation palace. She is no longer cruel or malicious, but thoughtful and decisive. She is alive. She is healthy.

Is she happy?

The western cloud emits a dagger of lightning. It branches brightly like a spiderweb before it vanishes. Zuko's heart clenches. Azula is like lightning, bursting into his life with brilliant, dangerous energy, and just as quickly disappearing. Zuko places a hand on his chest, where he still bears the mark of Azula's power. If she is the lightning, what is he? The thunder that follows, always a step behind? Or the ground that is scorched in her wake?

Zuko lets his hand fall. Thunder, lightning, fire, earth…all these elemental forces won't give him the words to reach Azula. With all the pieces of his life finally fitting together, she is the last thing that feels unresolved.

If he knows that she is happy, that is enough.

When Azula enters the Firelord's chambers, Zuko is staring at the stars, scar facing her. He doesn't see her at first, and only glances over when Azula shuts the door.

Their eyes meet, gold on gold.

"You said that you'd come back to me," Zuko finally says. "And yet I'm the one who had to come to you." He steps forward.

The careful speech that Azula has prepared evaporates like water boiling instantly to steam. She trembles.

"You look good," Zuko says awkwardly. "The hair. It suits you."

Still, Azula can't say anything. She's pinned in place by the weight of everything she's done, by the treacherous feelings of mistrust that still whisper when she looks at Zuko. She's decided not to mention the older Zuko's spirit visits; this Zuko will probably think she's still insane.

As the silence stretches, Zuko seems to get more uncomfortable.

"I didn't expect to find you here," he says. "I mean, how could I have? But I'm not having you followed, I just—"

"I knew you were coming," Azula says hoarsely. She wants to erect barriers, protect herself from the emotions that run too strong.

"And chose to stay," Zuko finishes.

"I had to stay. I had to say—I'm sorry," Azula blurts out. Clumsily, and even though it burns her pride to do, she lowers to her knees.

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you, Zuko. I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish and cruel, and I don't deserve—"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Azula?" Zuko says faintly. He sinks to the floor in a billow of red robes and lifts her chin. "I forgive you. You're my family."

Zuko looks so much like their father—long dark hair, sharp chin, arching eyebrows. But Ozai never would have forgiven a fault. Never.

Azula wraps her arms around Zuko and holds him tightly. At first, he tenses with shock, and then returns her embrace. Azula's face is wet with tears, and she dampens the padded shoulder of Zuko's robes as she cries. She cries with the pain of the past three years, and the past twenty. She cries for the future she's lost and for the hope she's gained.

"Azula," Zuko says roughly. "Azula, I'm so proud of you. Of what you've done. And of who I know you've become."

"I guess we both had to be banished," Azula sniffs.

"Maybe everyone does," Zuko laughs, rubbing her back. "When we're stripped of everything…then we realize who we really are."

"That actually makes sense," Azula admits.

"Don't sounds so shocked."

They split apart.

"Now, Azula…tell me everything."

For the next half hour, Azula tells Zuko of her life since she left: the visions, the running, even the yapian. She tells the truth, for the most part. Still, she glosses over Temurin's involvement with Crooked Zhao, obscures what Temurin sold, and excises the precise nature of her relationships with Altan and Temurin. She also leaves out who, exactly, her spirit-guide was. No need to worry Zuko over such things.

Remarkably, Zuko remains calm and silent throughout her tale, only moving to cover her hand when she relates how Altan was killed. Altan's name still sticks painfully in Azula's throat. By the time Azula finishes explaining to Zuko how she and Wakaba realized the Qima River could be redirected, Azula's voice and heart are exhausted.

"And now the project is finished," Zuko says. "Your work is incredible, Azula."

"All I had to do was focus on keeping people alive instead of killing them," Azula deadpans. "A harder task by far."

"I know it," Zuko agrees grimly.

Azula laughs. Here they sit: the two legitimate children of a bloody conqueror, trying to heal the wounds their family inflicted. The future Zuko said that the world needed both of them. Was building the dam what Zuko meant? Or does she have some greater destiny before her?

As if he can read her mind, the Zuko in front of her speaks.

"Your work here is done, Azula," he says. "I don't know what you've planned next, but I could use you in the Fire Nation. Come home with me."

Azula swallows thickly. "Are you asking me as the Firelord or as my brother?"

"As Firelord, I recognize talent when I see it," Zuko says. "Both you and Wakaba are brilliant engineers. As your brother, I want you by my side. But more importantly…I want you to be safe. And happy."

He leans forward. "Are you happy, Azula? You've told me all about the things that have happened to you. You've had it rough. Is living here really what you want?"

Azula looks down at her folded hands. Hands that have killed, hands that now draw, and build, and comfort. Her empty hands have been filled many times over. She imagines picking up the golden crown of Princess, feeling its weight on her skull, and walking out onto the Royal Balcony to the cheer of crowds.

Azula shakes her head. "It's not me, Zuko. Not anymore. I belong here."

"Does your choice have something to do with whoever is waiting in the next room?" Zuko asks shrewdly.

Azula flushes.

"Partly," she admits. "But also, the United Republic is the place for people like me. People who need a second chance. I'd like to stay and help in small ways. You know better than anyone I don't do well with too much power." It hurts to say, even now, but it's true. She can tell Zuko agrees with the last part.

"I understand," Zuko says. "But know that you are always welcome in the Fire Nation. Always."

They embrace again.

"Now, are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Zuko asks pointedly.

"Temurin," Azula says, her heart beating fast.

"Yes, Temurin." Zuko picks up his crown from a side table and plants it firmly in his hair.


	43. Chapter 43

_Well friends, this is the end. It's been a real pleasure writing this story and reading your reactions. Thank you for reading, and please share with your friends!_

_Until next time._

* * *

**Chapter 43**

Temurin immediately looks to Azula upon entering. Her eyes are edged with red, but there is no tension in her brows. She looks at peace. Relieved. She nods slightly. The meeting went well, then.

"It's good to meet you, Temurin," the Firelord says. Immediately, Temurin bows at the waist with his hands before him, realizing he should have done that before looking to Azula. But a lifetime living in the Colonies, now the United Republic, have hardly prepared him to meet the Firelord.

"Thank you, my Lord," Temurin says formally. He straightens, leaving his hands in the ritual pose in front of him, and looks Azula's brother in the eye.

To be honest, the Firelord is unremarkable save for his youth. Like Azula, the Firelord's face and eyes are blotched red. Except for his scar and his crown, the Firelord could be any young man from the Fire Nation. It's odd; Temurin's mother remarked that the Firelord has an imposing presence, but Temurin thinks the Firelord's eyes lack the piercing sharpness of Azula's gaze.

Still, Temurin is aware that he is standing before one of the most powerful men in the world. And one of the people Azula cares most about.

"No need to be formal, Temurin," the Firelord says. "Call me Zuko." Zuko advances and, unexpectedly, covers Temurin's outstretched hands with one of his own.

"Azula tells me you've saved her life many times over," Zuko says. "Thank you for taking care of her."

"She's the one who has looked after me," Temurin says. "In fact, Kana saved the whole village, including my daughter and nephew's lives."

"Azula is a very special person," Zuko says, almost threateningly.

"I know she is." Temurin keeps his tone level. From the corner of his eye, Temurin can see Azula crossing her arms; she's probably considering whether or not she should step in.

"Your son is delightful," Temurin says abruptly. "When I told him I was a doctor, he asked if I could teach him how to stick needles in people to make them better."

As predicted, the Firelord's face splits into a wide smile. "Did he really?" Zuko laughs. "Fire sages, he sounds like Azula at that age."

"I had no interest in healing people," Azula corrects with a smirk. "He's getting the needles idea from Mai."

Zuko chuckles again and shakes his head. "May the spirits help me." Then, his eyes light up and he turns to Azula. "Wait—did I tell you why Mai isn't here? She's having a baby this spring!"

"Congratulations!" Temurin says heartily.

"You finally knocked her up," Azula says. "I must say, I thought you'd slip years ago. Both of you are completely reckless."

Zuko ignores her, apparently absorbed with pride and excitement. Temurin smiles, softening slightly towards the Firelord. He remembers the feeling: a mix of imploding delight and dreadful nervousness towards the life he was about to be responsible for. Without thinking about it, Temurin glances at Azula. Her face is a mix of fond mockery and slight longing. Temurin's heart quickens.

"When my daughter was born, I could immediately tell what kind of person she would be," Temurin says. "Even as a baby, she had an analytical mind. I'm sure Azula was the same when she was a girl."

"I was a little monster," Azula cuts in.

"But a brilliant one," Zuko adds gravely. "Temurin, how old is your daughter?"

"Haojun is eight," Temurin smiles.

"She's constantly contributing drawings and diagrams to the Qima Dam project," Azula says. "You know, Zuko, I think she's the first child I've ever liked."

Both Zuko and Temurin snort.

"What?" Azula demands.

"We're laughing at you," Temurin teases her.

"You've mellowed," Zuko says. "But you're still my sharp-tongued sister."

"Haojun idolizes Kana." Temurin is unable to keep the warmth from his voice and his eyes. But even as his hopes rise within him, he realizes that Azula hasn't yet said whether she will stay or go. "My daughter will miss you if you leave, Azula," he says tentatively.

"Well, Haojun doesn't need to worry," Azula says. The edge of her mouth curls shyly. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you sure, Kana?" Temurin asks, ignoring the Firelord. "You could do such great things…"

"But then, what little things would I miss?" Azula replies softly.

Temurin feels a stupid grin spread across his lips. He wishes he could kiss her right here. Spirits. The fact that Azula can be so terrifying only makes it that much sweeter when her cheeks are flushed pink like this. After the life she's lived, how is it possible that she still chooses to be vulnerable? The flip of her short hair, the fingernails she keeps sharp, the sensual arch of her eyebrow…these are the little things he would miss.

"Haojun will be overjoyed," Temurin says. Then, seized with a sudden conviction, he touches Azula's shoulder lightly.

"Kana, could you leave us for a minute? I have something I need to ask your brother."

"Without words, without even understanding, lovers find each other. The moment of finding is always a surprise, like meeting an old friend never before known," Hegane intones.

Azula's heart beats hard beneath her scarlet veil. Never, never in her life did she think she would be dressed in a red _cheongsam_, standing on a Colonial dais before her entire village, various international officials, her brother, and even the Avatar and his wife. She expected she would marry, of course, to form alliances and to please her father. But this is not political theater. This is real. And yet Azula feels she must be trapped in the Spirit World or a highly realistic dream. This can't be real.

She never imagined that someone would marry her for love.

Desperately, Azula turns to search the crowd. Through the transparent mesh fabric of her veil, everyone is tinged festive red. Wakaba is truly an organizational master; the decorations have come together far more quickly than Azula would have thought possible. Zuko assures her that with all her traditional makeup, no one will recognize her. As if sensing her panic, Zuko smiles and tilts his head towards the platform. Towards the red-robed man standing opposite Azula.

"Temurin, please recite your poem, first written by the Ancient Sages," Hegane orders.

Azula is immobilized as Temurin smiles nervously. He looks magnificent in red robes embroidered with dark gold square patterns. In his hair rests a jade pin in the shape of a phoenix—a gift of forgiveness from Hegane. Temurin squeezes her hand.

"Nekana, I want to be your friend forever," he begins. "When the hills are all flat and the rivers run dry, when the trees blossom in winter and the snow falls in summer, when heaven and earth mix—not until then will I part from you. To you alone will I be true."

Azula's lips twitch. He means it, she can hear the truth in his voice, but she still cannot believe it.

_Choose life. _

"Nekana, your poem?" Hegane prompts.

A figure appears behind Temurin, so faint and shimmering that she could be a part of Azula's veil. It is her mother.

_You have before your death and life, despair and joy, my daughter. So choose life, and live it abundantly._

"Love burns like fire, and jealousy is stronger than death," Azula says tremulously. Temurin grips her hands even tighter, hope in his eyes. The spirit Ursa nods encouragingly.

"But you are the shade of the day, the water when my throat is parched, the song when my spirit is low. To you alone will I be loyal, all the days of my life."

"In this life, you will experience joy and sorrow, sweetness and bitterness," Hegane says. "All these things you will share. To symbolize your new life together, drink of this wine." She passes the cup first to Temurin, who drinks without taking his eyes off Azula. When he offers the cup to Azula, she freezes. Is she supposed to drink this under the veil? Unsure, she lifts her own veil and throws it behind her.

"So willful," Temurin whispers as he passes her the cup. "You couldn't let me unveil you?" Normally, Azula would say something cutting, but she's trembling so hard she can't summon anything to say. Clearly seeing her distress, Temurin leans forward to fix her veil; as he does, he leans forward so his lips brush her ear.

"I love you, Azula," he says. "You're doing great."

Heat emanates from where Temurin's breath warmed Azula's skin. His words flushes across her chest to nestle in her heart. This is not the life she envisioned.

It is so much better. Azula drinks the bitter wine.

"Then by the power given to me by the United Republic and by the spirits under heaven, I declare you husband and wife," Hegane proclaims. Her thin lips curve into a smile. "You may kiss."

Eagerly, Azula leans forward to meet Temurin. His hand slips to her waist, and she closes her eyes as Temurin kisses her deeply, mouth as sweet as honey, as sweet as Temurin's voice when he sings.

When they break apart, Azula looks back out to the crowd. Haojun and Kazuto are jumping up and down, clearly excited by the raucous cheers around them. Wakaba stands next to Haojun's family, beaming smugly. Standing amidst all the foreign officials, Zuko stands with tears streaming down his face. The Avatar sobs openly, while his wife claps like she'd rather not be there. Azula laughs.

"Are you ready?" Temurin says.

"For what?" Azula turns to her new husband, still amused.

"Our second chance." Temurin lifts their intertwined hands and kisses her thumb. Azula feels so full she thinks she will burst. The past is behind. Her hope is ahead. The journey is only beginning.

"I'm ready."

-THE END-


End file.
